


A Deadly Game of Chess

by evilsaqqara



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 78,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsaqqara/pseuds/evilsaqqara
Summary: The Avengers are fractured and disillusioned with one another after the events of the Civil War.  In the aftermath old enemies of the Black Widow and Winter Soldier join forces to regain control of their two best assets and rebuild Hydra.  Will Natasha and James be able to learn to work together?  And what happens when Clint and Steve learn that their two best friends have teamed up for a secret mission.





	1. Chaturanga

**August in Nice, France.  3 months after CA: Civil War**

Valeria Markoff sat in her rented BMW, spine straight as a new pencil, and stared at the sprawling Italian estate of Andre Rostov.  In all the years she had been working for Mr. Rostov never before had she been summoned to his home, the mansion itself was bigger than the tenement where she’d grown-up in Moscow.  The well-manicured lawn with its topiaries and riotous blooms of summer flowers were probably the envy of many a botanical garden.  Despite the beauty of the location the fact she’d been pulled off her latest assignment so abruptly and brought here, left her hands tingling and she began sweating under her designer dress.  After what seemed an intolerable amount of time the door was finally opened by a short, stocky older woman with steel-blue hair.  The older woman, with her proper black dress buttoned all the way up to her collarbone, reminded Valeria of a spinster from a historical romance novel.

 _“My name is Valeria Markoff, Monsieur Rostov is expecting me.”_ Valeria told the other woman politely.

The maid clucked disbelievingly, her rheumy, opaque gray eyes surveying Valeria with disdain.  _“I highly doubt that. The monsieur does not bring women like you into his house.”_

Valeria’s body stiffened, her eyes turning to the color of honey on fire.  “ _I work for Monsieur Rostov. He requested that I meet him here.”_ She spat back, through gritted teeth.  She had grown up poor and she was used to people like Rostov’s maid treating her like she as if trash.  But that didn’t mean she had to accept or tolerate their attitudes.

The maid stepped back rigidly, disapproval radiating off her in waves. With a hand knotted by arthritis, she waved Valeria inside.  _“Wipe your feet.  I don’t need you tracking your mud through the house.”_

 _“Don’t you have something better to worry about?”_ Valeria hissed under her breath, following the older woman through the entryway. _“Like knitting or eating prunes or dying?”_ she found the house cool and inviting in contrast to the late afternoon heat, even if the old woman was not.

As Valeria was escorted into an elegantly decorated office she quickly took in the décor.  The lighting low, strategic, the wealth of the owner on full display.  She was struck by the scent, a mixture of beeswax polish, old wood, and a faint overlay of leather.  Everything about the place was genteel and old fashioned from the antique tiffany lamps to the luxurious rug under her feet.  As she halted her stride to stand in front of the teak wood desk she held her body rigged, to stifle the urge to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. Nervousness made her feel nauseated, almost as if she had two hearts frantically beating in her chest, instead of one.

She guardedly studied the three men there with her.  The oldest of the three, Rostov, did not tolerate failure.  Observed from a distance he was an unthreatening man, a fragment in the night, a no one. Those who met him for the first time often made the mistake of dismissing him as someone’s kind, portly old grandfather.  But Valeria knew that was far from the truth.  Rostov was brutal and unforgiving when it came to failure.  This slightly balding, gray-haired man seated at his desk was no one’s kind old anything. 

Yet it was not Rostov that she truly feared at the moment.  No, the youngest of the men, the tall, muscular, redhead, standing behind her.  He was the one who made her recoil slightly in her own skin.  He always had the same look in his glacial blue eyes, a promise of torture and death. In the two years she had been working for Hydra he had never uttered a single word around her.  No one had ever spoken his name.  He was a man without a past or a future, he was a ghost.  When he was present, all, she felt was an assault of apprehension and terror.

Setting his crystal tumbler of Vodka down on his desk and eyeing Valeria questioningly, Rostov spoke first.  _“Miss Markoff, how was your trip?  I assume you had no difficulty getting here.”_ He inquired conversationally.

Valeria was thrown by both his tone and his question, Andre Rostov was not known for idle pleasantries.  _“The trip was unremarkable, there were no problems”_ She responded neutrally, trying to discern Rostov’s mood.  Her confusion dancing across her face.

Rostov sat back in his chair and clapped his large hands together, his tone turning more formal.  _“Good.  Then we can get down to business.  Where is the book?”_ The look in his molasses brown eyes turning anticipatory awaiting her answer. 

Valeria, her muscles tightening even more, hesitated a moment before answering. _“It has only been two months, I have not found it yet.  Herr Zemo was incredibly diligent in hiding the book.”_  

A vein in Rostov’s forehead throbbed and his eyes narrowed so fast they nearly sparked.  He leaned forward in his chair, the leather groaning in response, as he bellowed _“Foolish woman, do think we are the **only** one’s looking for the book?  Time was of the essence.  Apparently, I made a grave mistake in trusting you to complete the task.”_

Valeria swallowed and her brows began to sweat.  She knew Rostov expected perfection and expediency from his agents.  But she hadn’t known he would give her such a limited timetable to accomplish the mission. _“Sir, if you just give me a little more time I’m sure that I can complete the mission.”_ Valeria pleaded, her nails digging into her hands _. “It has been impossible for me to get access to Zemo while he is imprisoned on the Raft.  I have had to use other methods of inquiry.”_

 _“And what have these other methods achieved?  Are you any closer to finding the book?”_   Rostov queried dismissively, having already decided what to do about her failure.

Valeria faltered before answering.  “ _No. Zemo’s movements after escaping Germany have been almost impossible to track.  It’s almost as if he vanished into thin air before turning back up in Siberia.  That is why I need more time.”_  Her voice sounding much calmer than she felt.  Inside, her organs were grinding themselves into a nervous pulp. Her stomach twisting itself out, jerking on her trachea.

Rostov sat back in his chair once again, now bored with the conversation and her.  _“Then as I said, I made a mistake in choosing you for this mission.”_  The look on his face and in his eyes cruel and unforgiving.

Valeria took a step back in alarm.  The moment she had reported that she could not locate the book with the Winter Soldier’s trigger words; she knew Rostov would not let her live.  No amount of pleading or begging would appeal to his humanity.  Rostov had no humanity.  Those who worked for him where no more than chess pieces to be moved around the board, sacrificed in his game.  Valeria meant no more to him than a pawn, less now that she had failed.  But the part of Valeria that wished to survive the night arose within her, she had to at least try.  

She turned toward the third man in the room, General Lukin, assessing her chances with him. The General was a broad-shouldered man, his goatee doing nothing to subtract from his natural air of military bearing. His hair was stark black streaked with white or, in certain light, stark white shot through with black.  Valeria was careful not to let her gaze linger on the jagged scar that ran from his cheek up between his blue eyes.  Instead, she focused on the Van Gogh that hung over the leather settee that General Lukin was seated on.  Like the Degas on the wall behind the teak desk, she was certain the art work were pieces that had been classified as missing since World War II.  Stolen by the Nazis.

The General had taken the news without comment.  Perhaps she could negotiate for another chance with him. _“Sir, if you just give me another…”_

 _“Silence! You’ve had two months and you failed.  You are no longer useful to me!”_   Rostov roared, cutting her off as he stood, rage rising from his stomach to his brain like mercury in a thermometer stuck in boiling water.  His breathing was rapid and his face flushed from suppressing the urge to attack the woman himself.  But killing her in his home would be a mistake and he had come too far in his plans to make such a stupid mistake now.  Reigning his temper in, he continued. _“You seek some way to resist, escape your punishment. There is none.”_  

“ _I am sorry my dear_ ,” Aleksander Lukin responded as he brushed a piece of lint off his pant leg.  His voice sounding almost paternal and sympathetic. Although in truth, he didn’t care either way what Rostov had decided to do with the woman.  She was Rostov’s concern not his.

It would be the last voice Valeria would ever hear.  She sensed the younger man moving toward her, but she was incapable of doing anything about it.  Terror like she had never felt before crippled her.  She could feel the sweat gathering on her skin.  The fear smothering her, her muscles becoming frozen and her mind paralyzed by hopelessness.  _“ **No!** ”_  was her last pleading thought before the blow to the back of her head rendered her unconscious.

Rostov’s lips curved into a bored smile as he observed the crumpled form laying inert on his floor.  In a pleasant voice, he spoke to his young compatriot “ _You will take care of her, yes?”_

The younger man looked at Rostov, his blue eyes flashing anticipation.  He gave a curt nod and replied in a voice deep and clear, _“I will ensure no one ever finds her.”_   With that, he lifted the unconscious woman in his arms with ease.  His lips curving into a deadly smile as he left the estate.  He would play with this one before killing her.

Once the younger man had departed, Lukin looked at Rostov expectantly.  _“I suppose we will have to liberate Zemo from his prison now.”_

Rostov resumed his seat, leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his vodka, and calculated their next move.  _“I think not yet.  We do not want to tip our hand too soon.  No, I think it is time we called Dr. Faustus and begin the next phase.”_

 _“The book, **the words** , are the key to controlling the Winter Soldier. That is what matters!” _Lukin responded heatedly.  Slamming his drink down on a nearby table hard enough to make the antique lamp rattle in protest.  The Winter Soldier should have been put under his control when General Karpov had disappeared. He had been Karpov’s second-in-command.  Pierce had been a **fool** sending the Soldier after Captain America.  No, if he had been given control of the Soldier Hydra would never have lost him.

 _“We will get the book.  But the Winter Soldier is only part of the equation.”_ Rostov replied. _“No.  I think Dr. Faustus plan is our way forward.  The key to controlling the Soldier is the Black Widow, just as The Winter Soldier is the key to controlling her.  We need them both back where they belong and we need them serving our cause without fail.”_

Lukin picked up his glass of vodka and peered into it, contemplating Rostov’s words for a moment.  How they got the Winter Soldier back was unimportant to him.  He only cared that the Soldier finally be under his control.  He drained the contents from his glass. Nodding his agreement, he rose from his chair _“I will contact the Doctor then and tell him we are ready to proceed.”_

**5 Months later: Dr. Faustus’ home- Germany**

Aleksansder Lukin stood in Dr. Faustus sitting room, lips clamped together, his spine as rigid as a steel pole.  His pale blue eyes glowering out the window at the dreary snow covered property. The trees and hedges resembling dark bones against the stone-gray skyline.  A maid had lit the fireplace, likely attempting to warm the somber room, but the popping heat didn’t seem to reach far enough to ward off the winter chill.  

Turning away from the bleak view Lukin assessed his companion critically.  Dr. Faustus remind him of a university professor, with his tweed sports coat and matching vest.  Bespectacled, trim, his dark hair graying at the temples, perhaps in his early sixties.  The man was soft, he’d never seen a day of hard labor, never fought in a battle.  But the Dr. was cunning and Lukin knew he needed to keep an eye on him.

Lukin’s patience with Dr. Faustus and the time it was taking to put their full plan in motion snapping like a brittle twig.  He violently gestured his arm in the Doctor’s direction, the ash from his cigar threatening to fall on to the expensive rug.  “ _You and Rostov have The Widow running around playing your little games, but eventually Fury is going to catch on and the Black Widow will disappear.”_

Faustus sighed resignedly, he’d had this exact argument with Lukin many times over the past few months.  The smell of Lukin’s cigar smoke assailing his nose, he took a leisurely sip of his wine before replying. _“Fury knows nothing of what we’re doing.  He only knows what we wish him to know, General.”_

 _“I’m telling you he is going to stick his nose in our business, and we can’t allow that to happen.  Trust me.  If he gets so much as a toehold, we will be in for the fight of our lives.”_ Lukin snapped back. 

 _“There is no need to worry.  Rostov knows what he’s doing.  He has Fury running around like a dog chasing his tail.”_ Faustus circled his long, pale finger around his wineglass faster and faster.  _“He is a master of deception.  He schemes on more levels than you and I are capable of comprehending, Fury will catch on to nothing.”_

Lukin pounded a nearby table with his fist, cutting him off.  _“Let me tell you something about Nick Fury.  I went up against him early in my career. He is the last of a breed of Americans who knows how to be every bit as dirty as the dirtiest enemy.”_

But Dr. Faustus unimpressed, shrugged the other man’s concerns off.   _“Fury is of little concern to us, Romanova is what’s important in this operation.  We have taken steps to ensure she will not let Fury pull her out.  She will see shadows at every turn, seek answers to questions she is only now learning exist to be asked.  She will become completely defensive. **No.**  Romanova will not allow Fury to dictate to her in this.” _

_“I do not understand why all this is necessary. Wipe their memories, reprogram them. Use fear, fear is a great motivator.  Why must we play these games of yours?”_

_“It’s very simple General.  As time passes fear becomes a memory.  Terror becomes routine, it loses its grip. Unless, you have a way of feeding it._   _Which we will have once this **Game** , as you put it, is done.”  _Dr. Faustus lectured, sounding every bit like a professor.  He took another sip of his wine, his gray eyes steadily appraising his companion.  Lukin’s impatience to gain control of the Winter Soldier could prove to be a problem.  If Lukin’s impatience got the better of him they could lose either the Winter Soldier, Natalia, or Both.

Dr. Faustus put his wineglass down on a nearby table, shifted comfortably in his chair and continued lecturing the General.  “ _We need to proceed with caution, you must have patience General._   _You will get your Winter Soldier, but we must do this correctly if you wish to retain him.”_

Faustus and Lukin were so absorbed in their discussion that at first they did not hear Rostov enter the sitting room.   Rostov took one look at the mutinous expressions on the other men’s faces and knew they had yet again been arguing like children that wanted to play with the same shiny new toy, but didn’t want to share.   He was also aware that the other two gentlemen had their own agenda’s.  At the moment they coincided with his, making them useful.  However, if they began to put their agenda’s before the organizations he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate them.

Plastering a polite smile on to his face Rostov greeted the other two as he crossed the room to warm his hands at the fireplace.   _“Gentlemen, I trust I have not kept you waiting too long.”_

 _“Of course not.”_ Dr. Faustus replied, sounding surprised and cautious all at once.  It always unnerved him that he never heard Rostov enter a room.  Recovering quickly, He rose from his chair and walked over to his liquor cabinet to offer Rostov a drink.  _“vodka? Or will you be having wine with us?”_

 _“Vodka I think.  I need something to ward away the chill and we are celebrating tonight.”_ Retorted the burly Russian, his high spirits resonating in his tone.

 _“And what exactly are we celebrating?”_ Lukin asked, his tone brusque, in no mood for one of Rostov’s games of intrigue.  He did not care to hear another story of Rostov brilliance at out maneuvering Fury. 

Aware of the General’s impatience Rostov turned away from the inviting fire, a triumphant smile on his face. He would not let the General spoil his good mood. Quoting one of his favorite authors he replied, _“The game is afoot Gentlemen.  I have heard from our young Comrade; we are ready to proceed.”_   Accepting the glass of vodka from Dr. Faustus he asked the man _“You will be leaving for Wakanda soon?”_

Returning to his leather chair the Dr. replied, _“Yes.  I will arrive in two weeks.”_

 _“And you are certain you can get their scientists to do what we need in such a short amount of time?  If you fail, we will not be given a second opportunity.”_  The authority in Rostov’s voice leaving no doubt that failure would not bode well for the Doctor.

 _“By the end of the month the Winter Soldier will be free from his icy cage.”_ Faustus stated, his voice confident and unwavering. _“As long as the General’s men can do their part.”_

 _“My men do not fail me.”_   Lukin cut in, bitter at the implication.  He took a long pull from his cigar to soothe his temper.  His men were the ones being sacrificed in this game of Rostov’s and the Doctor’s. The Black Widow was not known for her gentle touch and she had been living up to her well-earned reputation over the last several months.

Rostov ignored Lukin.  He was not worried about the General’s men, they were all well trained and loyal to the cause.   Faustus ability to do his part was what concerned him.  If the Dr. could not deliver on all his promises, then the work Rostov had put into this scheme so far would be for nothing.  He had several pawns in play and he did not like leaving things to chance.  _“No.”_ Rostov decided, thinking to himself.  _“I will send our young Comrade to Wakanda as well.  He will ensure everything goes as planned.  But first I will need him to liberate Helmut Zemo from the Raft.”_

Rostov took a sip of his vodka and inquired of the Dr. _“And what of your reporter?  Is she ready to play her part?”_

Faustus scoffed and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.  _“The woman is already half in love with Sargent Barnes, she is the type that finds his story both romantic and tragic.  She is a crusader in need of a cause and I have given her one, the redemption of one James Buchanan Barnes in the eyes of the world.  She’ll be a relentless zealot in her pursuit.”_ He did not understand why some people fell in love with the idea of a person without ever actually meeting them.  But people like the woman Rostov spoke of were easily manipulated and she would prove to be extremely useful.

 _“Good_.” Rostov replied.  Raising his glass for a toast, his words a lethal caress. _“To the glorious triumph of Hydra over our enemies and the return of our children to their rightful place among us.”_

The other two raised their glasses.  The chant of _“Hail Hydra!”_ echoing eerily through the room.


	2. Flashing The Queen

After finishing her morning workout Natasha walked through her bright kitchen, halting briefly to fill her coffee mug on her way by.  She continued her trek out the back door to stand on her porch.  It was one of those bitter mornings where everything was shiny, brittle, and hard, like crystal.  The trees, dressed in frost.  She tilted her head back, breathing deeply.  To many the view would seem unfriendly and cold, but Natasha found it beautiful.

“ _It feels good to be this kind of cold.”_ She murmured, almost smiling. 

After the mission she’d just come back from, she needed this time to herself.  Just to breathe, to refuel, to quiet the voices inside her head.  She could be herself, by herself.  That was what she felt the need for, to think; not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.  She took a long pull from the spicy, bittersweet brew then paused to listen to the silence, watching her breath crystalize has she exhaled.  Connecting to the silence within her, to make sense of the turmoil going on around her life.

After taking another sip she turned and went back into the house, lingering in the warm kitchen only long enough to refill her mug.  Her solitude wouldn’t last; Nick Fury would be there soon.  The bullets had stopped flying and the mission was over.  Now she had to deal with the least glamorous part of her work: the debriefing.  Fury would want a lengthy discussion to analyze mission strategy and operational facts.  

“ _Not the most exciting way to spend a Thursday morning_ ” Natasha thought ruefully.  But it couldn’t be avoided, nothing about the mission had gone as expected.

She stopped on her way to the bedroom and looked around the comfortably furnished living room.   It wasn’t home exactly, but right now it was all she needed.  The furniture upholstered in a moss green, was well lived in and equally cared for.  One wall contained recessed bookcases filled with books devoted to a wide variety of subjects.  Russian novels, Latin Classics, a few recent whodunits; biographies and the history of computing.  The large bulletproof windows gave her an uninhibited view of the lake.  All the security features that had been built into the house made her feel safe.

 _“Not everyone can launch a missile strike on their home in the event of an enemy attack.”_ She smirked.

Nick Fury had definitely pulled out all the stops to provide her with a place where she’d be protected.   The fact that it was warm and inviting, yet isolated in the woods near a lake, had ensured she would stay put for more than a week or two.  She plopped down on the comfortable couch to finish drinking her coffee and contemplated how sideways her life had become over the last several months.  She’d known she was making her life complicated by letting Steve and Barnes escape Germany.  But she hadn’t known how complicated until six weeks later in Glasgow. 

She’d just checked out of the tiny bed & breakfast she’d been laying low in when Nick Fury had pulled up in front of it in a black SUV and told her _“Get in, you’ve…we’ve got a problem.  I need you to be a ghost until we figure it out.”_ Natasha hadn’t needed to be told twice.  Fury thought she should make herself scarce, so that’s exactly what she did.  No contact with anyone except Nick.

She’d spent the first two months relishing in the fact that she didn’t have to fight any aliens, robots, or her friends.  All she’d had to worry about was HYDRA.  HYDRA she could handle, at least that’s what she’d thought.  Now she wasn’t sure what the hell she was in the middle of.  All she knew was they appeared to have a target and that target was her. 

Why they had singled her out and not any of the other former Avengers she didn’t have a clue.  And she didn’t care.  As long as their focus was on her, everyone else was safe.  Natasha pushed herself off the couch and stretched trying to relieve the tension she could feeling building.  This always happened whenever she let her mind wander to her friends. 

Especially Clint and his family.   She knew Clint was looking for her.  Hell, he’d been looking for the last several months.  Leaving coded messages using their private way of communicating with each other.  Messages she’d steadfastly ignored.  Messages that were going from reaching out, to annoyed, to increasingly pissed off. 

But she didn’t need or want Clint in the middle of her private war with HYDRA.  Doing her job had become difficult enough now that she was wanted in damn near every country on the planet.  And sometimes distance was easier than acting or explaining.  Sometimes you had to drown out the noise from the crowd.  And Clint would make a lot of noise if he knew what was going on.

 _“I let myself forget who and what I really am.”_ She said out loud, trying to quiet the voices in her head, the guilt mixed with resentment.

She’d made connections, friends.  Even worse she’d thought of them as her family.   But she was a spy and spies didn’t have connections, they were meant to be alone.  Unknown and unknowable.  Natasha had let herself forget that and now she was paying the price.Of all the changes she’d made over the last several months, the biggest wasn’t that she was drifting away from her friends by not seeing them.  It was complete mental detachment from them and the life she’d left behind.

She rolled her neck around trying again to ease the tension, remembering a quote she’d once read.  “ _Now they tell their friends you are an enemy, tomorrow they will turn their friends into their own enemies.”_   Looking back at what had happened during the fight over the Accords it seemed fitting.  No matter how much distance—physically, mentally, emotionally—she put between her and her friends, they still managed to affect her life.

 _“Banner was right”_ she thought bitterly _“We were never a team.  We were a ticking time bomb, and we finally exploded.”_ She gave herself a mental shake.  Her mind had wandered down a path that she should have steered clear of, but found impossible to resist.  She just needed to accept that things change.  And friends leave.  Life didn't stop for anybody.

Natasha made her way into her bedroom to take a shower and get dressed.  She looked like crap and she didn’t need Nick Fury seeing her that way.  He’d either try to sideline her or force Barton onto her.  Especially after what she’d found on this last mission.  She estimated she had maybe forty-five minutes before he arrived.  She would need a hot shower and more coffee if she was going to make it through the morning unscathed. 

Fury was not going to be happy with her.

Twenty minutes later Natasha came back out of her bedroom showered and dressed in faded jeans and a comfortable dark-gray hoodie.  Her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail.  She went in search of more coffee only to find Nick Fury already standing in her living room.  Hands clenched behind his back, looking down on the small table that held the chess game the two of them were playing.

 _“So much for more caffeine first.”_  She sighed to herself, but kept the look on her face neutral.

Nick didn’t bother to turn around.  He could smell the mixture of grapefruit, amber, and vanilla from Nat’s shampoo.  Making him aware that she had entered the room.  _“I made fresh coffee while you were getting dressed.”_

 _“Thanks. You’re early.”_ At least she’d get that coffee before they really got into it.

_“Am I?”_

_“Yes.”_  

And there it was, he’d been hoping to catch her off guard.  Fortunately, she’d anticipated that and gotten up earlier than she would have liked.  _“Do you want a cup?”_ she asked politely, before making her way into the kitchen to refill hers.

Nick turned from the window and found Natasha looking at him with a flawless poker face. _“Why not. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”_

When she returned, Nick took the mug Natasha was holding out to him. Natasha took a careful sip from her cup and pulled back with a look of horrified disgust.  _“Did the coffeepot break?  What the hell is this?”_ She should have known better than to trust Nick Fury’s ability to make actual coffee fit for human consumption.

Nick gave her a mutinous look in return _“What? Are you the coffee police or something?”_  

 _“If I were, you’d have already been arrested and convicted.  This is **Not** coffee, its brown water.”_ She complained.

Nick shook his head and quickly went back to being all business. Getting into an argument with Natasha over what constituted good coffee could take all day.  Something he had painfully learned from previous experiences with her and her unhealthy love of the dark liquid. 

He studied her intently before speaking, his tone anything but pleased _.  “Was there something you forgot to mention on the phone when you called for a forensics crew down in Columbia?”_

Natasha switching gears just as easily as Nick, looked at the ceiling and pursed her lips.  Pretending to contemplate her answer. _“Hmmm, a pit full of burnt to hell dead bodies.  Every HYDRA soldier willing to die rather than let me anywhere near the place.  It looked like a medical or holding facility.  Nope, I think that about covered everything important.”_

 This was their language: half-truths, obvious lies, never give all the information.  A form of communication every bit as complicated as Morse code.  Don't ask, don't tell, stay civil.  She looked back at him over the rim of her coffee cup.  Her green eyes steady, giving nothing away. 

Nick advanced across the room to get into Natasha’s personal space _._  He pressed his lips together, as if hesitating to voice to what was fairly bursting to come out.  The next moment the hesitation was over, just as Natasha knew it would be. _“You don’t think the fan letter written in blood and three-foot-high letters was **Important**?  What did it say again?  Oh yes. You’re going to die the same way they did Romanoff.”  _

“ _So much for civil_ ” Natasha muttered under her breath.

Sometimes Natasha thought anger and Nick Fury were best friends. But she simply shrugged and took another sip of her barely drinkable coffee, looking unaffected.  _“People tell me they’re going to kill me all the time.  HYDRA’s just going to have to take a number and sit in the waiting room with the rest of them.”_ She told Nick calmly.  This wasn’t the first time they had done this dance and it was very unlikely to be the last.

He tilted his head and looked at her as if he were watching the IQ points drip out of her ears. _“I’d **really** like to see things from your point of view Romanoff”_ Nick bit out, leaning in closer _“But I can’t seem to get my head that **Fucking far up your ass**.”  _ His voice raising as he finished _._

Natasha reached out and grabbed Nick’s coffee cup just as his arms flailed upward and he spun.

 _“What the hell do you think this house is for?!  To protect you!  Someone in HYDRA wants to play games and they want to play with you.  You need to take this seriously!”_   He thundered at her, a vein in his forehead throbbing.  He snatched his coffee cup back from her.  The woman could royally piss him off when she put a little effort into it.

Natasha’s eyes flared as her free hand clenched into a fist.  “ _All those dead bodies guaranteed I’m going to take it seriously.  I don’t care if someone wants to play some twisted game, because I’m **NOT** playing around.  That burn pit wasn’t for trash.”_  

They glared at each other, at a standstill.  The only sound in the room coming from the low hum of the central heater.  Nick was the first to break eye contact, looking down at his coffee mug.  He softened his tone, knowing they weren’t going to get anywhere if they argued all morning.  _“Mine’s cold. You want a refill?”_ He asked, forcing a note of calm he wasn’t feeling into his voice.

Natasha gave him a smirk, handing her cup to him.  _“Sure, four cups in one morning who am I going to go out and kill.  It’s not as if I know where to go next.  Unless the lab geeks found something.”_  

Nick shook his head negatively before stalking off to the kitchen.  Calling out to her as he went _“Knight to E5, Check.”_

He needed some breathing space before he strangled her himself.  Natasha Romanoff could compartmentalize and hide information every bit as well as he could.  It helped make her the most skilled operative he’d ever known.  It was also frustrating as hell.  If there was something she wasn’t telling him, Nick would never know the truth unless she wanted him too. 

Between the two of them she was the better liar.  Hell, SHIELD had the most sophisticated and accurate lie detector equipment on the planet because of Nat.  The stuff worked great as long as you weren’t trying to use it on her, then it was nothing more than a multi-million-dollar paperweight.

Natasha studied the chess pieces on the board before making a move of her own, then sat down on the couch and waited for Nick.  She didn’t have any idea what their next step should be.  She’d been all over the globe the last several months and every location she’d hit had left more questions than answers.  And at each one, someone had left something personal for her behind.  A piece of the patchwork quilt that was her past.  Showing her there were still too many things she didn’t remember. 

Clint and Nick had both tried to help her fill in the missing parts of her memory, using every resource available to SHIELD.  But still there were large gaping pieces missing.  Something she had thought she had come to terms with long ago.  But these past few months had left her with questions she still wasn’t sure weren’t better left unanswered.  Maybe she should adhere the same warning she’d once given to Steve

 _“You might not want to pull on that thread, Natasha.”_  She whispered quietly to herself.  

Natasha knew there came a time in your life when you had to choose to turn the page, write another book or simply close it.  It didn’t look as if HYDRA was going to allow her to make that choice.  She was growing increasingly tired of not knowing what HYDRA wanted with her.  And she was definitely taking it personally that she couldn’t get enough intel to figure it out.  She blew out a frustrated breath.  _“I’m the God Damn Black Widow for Christ’s sake.”_

Before this last mission, everything HYDRA had left for her had been small.  Something easily concealed from Nick until, or rather if, she decided she wanted to share.  This time whoever was running the show had wanted a Picasso—big, bold, and unmistakable.  Well HYDRA had certainly delivered.  But that didn’t mean she was ready to share with Nick Fury.  No, Natasha decided, it was better for her if he thought this was the only incident.  If there came a point later, when she no longer had a choice but to tell him everything, well she’d deal with it then.

Nick sauntered back into the living room and handed Natasha one of the fresh cups of coffee.  Again, he studied her intently, his good brown eye scanning every inch of her face and body language.  She looked tired.   The last mission had gotten to her a lot more than she was willing to letting on.  Seeing her like this had him concerned.  Their fight against HYDRA was far from over.   In fact, Nick suspected this was only the beginning.  The opening volley in a long and bloody battle. 

But he also knew, no matter how effortless she made it seem, Nat had one of the most stressful jobs on the planet.  Spies needed to schedule extended periods of down time for decompression.  He knew all too well the toll that their business could inflict on a person, and not just the physical injuries.  Those could either be mended or not.  The assaults on the mind and soul were an entirely different matter.  

Nick sat in the armchair across from her and gave her a wry smile.  _“You look like shit Nat.  Maybe you need a break, take some R &R.”_

Natasha’s head snapped up and she returned his look with a dangerous smile of her own.  Deliberately choosing to ignore the first part of his comment.   _“I’m a spy. My idea of R &R is the same as yours. _  _Recon and rendition.  Who exactly would you like me to recon and rendition?  I thought you said the lab geeks came up empty handed.”_

“ _They did.  They can’t even tell me what the cause of death was.  All they can say for sure is that were thirty-four bodies and most of them showed signs of torture before they died.  Electro shock, starvation.  But the torture wasn’t what killed them and there’s no one left for us to ask what happened.”_

Natasha stood up, telling Nick as she walked past him _“Well, HYDRA is pretty thorough about covering their tracks._   _They don't leave anybody around to tell tales, they’re a public health hazard!”_

She leaned against the window staring out at the landscape not focusing on anything in particular.  Her coffee mug cradle in her hands as if she were trying to draw warmth from it.  Her mind spinning around multiple scenarios of what HYDRA could have wanted from their victims.  Adding the new information Fury had just given her.   Only two options made any sense and even than one of those didn’t seem to fit properly with what they knew.

Nick stood and walked over to stand beside her, quietly watching her.  Knowing that her mind was shifting through a thousand little details from the mission.  Details that to anyone else would seem insignificant.  But to Romanoff they were a book to be read, full of knowledge to be absorbed and learned.  Details that told Natasha a story that no one else seemed able to read.  She was Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, and Columbo all rolled into one neat and deadly package.  If you needed intel no one else could get, you sent Romanoff. 

Nick shifted his weight toward her a little, nudging her shoulder. “ _You’re being very quiet.”_  He said softly.

_“Processing”_

_“I know that look, you’re not processing anymore, you’re brooding.”_

Natasha looked over at Nick, her eyes hard and cold.  _“I should have gotten there sooner.  I should have been able to do something for those people.”_   She hissed, her hands clenching around her mug.

She was furious and she didn’t care if Nick Fury saw it.  She continued to stand at the window her body ridged, her muscles coiling for a fight, but she had no target to strike out at.  Anger, frustration and guilt were stalking her like an ugly shadow. 

Nick let out a heavy sigh.  He was as angry as she was.  But no one could do guilt, deserved or not, like Natasha Romanoff.  He needed her to bring it down a few notches.  Right now, he needed calm, cool, calculating Romanoff.  Not leave a path of death and destruction Romanoff.  Later they would annihilate the enemy.

_“This is where we blame those responsible for the atrocity, Romanoff, not ourselves.”_

Natasha disagreed with Nick but kept her mouth shut and her face a mask of neutrality.  Her motivation to succeed against HYDRA was much deeper than Fury’s.  Far more personal.  She had a history of taking on the blame for an op gone wrong.  It was what she did, and she did it well.  Besides in this case, her guilt came from something else, something much, much worse than not getting there on time.  It came from knowing this was about her and others had died because of it.

 _“Just try to remember none of this is personal.”_ Nick continued.

Natasha smiled inwardly.  _“That’s were your wrong,”_ she thought.  _“it’s all personal.”_   When she responded, however, she was compliant.  _“I know.”_ Natasha said in an easy tone.

Nick tipped his head, his eyes narrowing, like he suspected she was lying, but he wasn’t sure about what.  “ _What do you think happened in Columbia?”_   Nick had a theory but he wanted to hear hers.

Natasha mulled the question over in her mind then after some serious consideration she said, _“They may have been taken there for interrogation.  But what any of them would know worth that level of interrogation is beyond me.”_  She shook her head. _“No. My bet is that they were lab rats for some kind of experiment.  That something a lot worse than enhanced interrogation was happening at that facility.”_

Nick gave her a short nod of agreement and moved away from the window to examine the chess board.  “ _That’s my read.  But what kind of experiments is the question.”_

 _“That’s going to be difficult to figure out unless you have some idea of where to look next.”_ She said, turning to lean against the window frame and look at Nick directly.

“ _About this, no.  But there was another incident while you were still in Columbia.  I don’t like the timing and I sure as hell don’t like all the effort being put into keeping it quiet.  Coincidences make me itchy.”_

Natasha said nothing, simply waited for him to continue.

_“Someone liberated Zemo from the Raft. Given how he was able to manipulate Stark and Rodgers, I don’t like it.”_

_“Someone, not a tac team?”_ Natasha inquired, folding her arms across her chest now that her coffee mug was empty.

Nick moved a piece on the chessboard before answering. _“The intel I can get, and there’s very little at this point, is that it was one man.  Ross isn’t particularly into sharing.”_

_“Smart play.  They’re well prepared to handle a full-out assault, one person…not so much.  Not even after Rodgers did his little prison break stunt.”_

Nick gave Natasha a smirk.  “ _Planning to break a few people out were you?”_

 _“No. Making damn sure I could get out if I needed to.”_  She replied shortly. _“Just like with every other maximum security facility on the planet.”_ She added silently, not willing to confirm that to Fury even is he did suspect it was true.For Natasha, as a spy, loyalty was a strange thing.  Her job was to deceive, live among her enemies.  The code that most soldiers had, of no man left behind, hadn’t even been in her repertoire until she’d joined SHIELD.   

 _“Did you get a description of the person?”_   She asked.

 _“Oh yeah, a really useful one,”_ Nick said sarcastically.  _“Tall, muscular, scary as hell.  Might have red hair.”_

 _“Well that clearly narrows it down to a large portion of the population.  How helpful.”_ Natasha pushed herself away from the window before continuing. _“And where would you like me to start this manhunt?”_

Nick looked down at his untouched, now cold again drink, and started heading toward the kitchen.  “ _Don’t know yet, give me a few days.  But you need to be prepared to leave the moment I figure it out.”_

 _“I’m always prepared.  I’m a boy scouts dream.”_ Natasha called out playfully as she countered Nick’s chess move.

Nick snorted and stuck his head out of the kitchen _“Breakfast?”_

_“If you’re cooking, sure.”_

He shot Natasha an amused glance _. “Well since I didn’t bring anything with me to test for poison, yes I’m cooking.”_

Natasha let out a burst of laughter, her mood restored now that the debrief appeared to be over and she would soon have a new target to go after.  _“Smartass.”_ She said following Nick into the kitchen. _“Oh, and Queen to D4. Checkmate.”_


	3. King Walk

**February in Wakanda**

The Winter Soldier could feel himself slowly waking from cryo stasis and becoming aware of the world around him.   The cold enveloping him like a blanket.  A familiar friend, normality, in a world that was hazy and out of focus.  He waited as fragmented memories flooded into his brain. The sensation irritating, like a mosquito buzzing around his head.  He remembered Steve.  He remembered telling Steve that for everyone’s safety he needed to be put back in the cryo chamber.   Afraid that he would lose his memories again when, if, they woke him.

Had they found a way to deprogram him?  He had no idea how long had passed since the scientists had placed him in there.  Months?  Years?  Decades?  James concentrated on the feel of the metal and glass tube around him, on the cold fog slowly being replaced with a warm, radiating heat.  Trying to anchor himself against the stream of half-formed memories assaulting him.

As his mind became more alert he could hear the voices of people talking, one of them nervous.  The disquieting feeling that had saved his life countless times began to stir.  He kept his eyes closed, concentrating on keeping his breathing and heart rate level and low.  He waited. Straining to hear the conversation.  Trying to determine what they wanted.  Who they were.  If he listened closely he could just make out what was being said, the voices muffled and low through the cyro tube.

_“Hurry the hell up!  We need to get out of here before she shows up and kills us all.”_

_“You need to relax Corbin.  How in the hell would the Black Widow find out we’re here? Christ even that T’Challa guy doesn’t know we’re here.”_   Came a curt reply, in a heavy Russian accent.

 _“The Black Widow_.”  James knew that name.  The image of long-red hair and a beautiful face assailed him and with it another name. “ _Natasha Romanoff, Steve’s friend.  They were talking about Romanoff.”_   Why would she come here to kill anyone?  

James had a vague memory of her allowing him and Steve to escape Germany.  He tried to force more of his memories of the redhead to the front of his mind.  But all he could picture was his metal hand around her throat while she tried to fight him off.  He couldn’t remember whether she was an enemy or ally. But he did know, either way, she was dangerous.

 _“You tell me Ivan.  How did she find our bases in Columbia, or Thailand, or Bangladesh?  That Bitch is on the warpath and HYDRA is her target!”_ Corbin snapped back, checking the entry points to the lab as he spoke.  He knew the Black Widow; she’d trained him when HYDRA had assigned him to join SHIELD.  The woman scared the shit out of him.   Ivan was an idiot for underestimating her.

 _“Relax, HYDRA’s not going to fall just because some woman has her panties in a wad.”_  Ivan scoffed. _“That’s what we’re retrieving him for, to take the bitch out.  The Black Widow won’t stand a chance against the Winter Soldier.”_  He continued, his eyes never straying off the data streaming across a console.  Ivan didn’t understand why they needed to retrieve the Winter Soldier to eliminate one tiny woman.  But he had his orders and he would follow them. 

“ _HYDRA!_   _These fuckers are HYDRA.”_  For James, it was like every sound turned into white noise, like his brain couldn’t process words any longer.  The shock was physical. For long seconds, he concentrated on his breathing, hoping his mind was playing tricks on him.  But there was no denying the truth that was right in front of him.  Again.

Steve had told him HYDRA had been destroyed.  But that’s what everyone had thought after the war. Until they’d sent him, the Winter Soldier, to DC.   “ _They were wrong then and Steve is wrong now_.   _HYDRA can never be stopped; they simply slither back into the shadows.  Cut off one head, two more shall rise._ ”

That was the savage truth.  Others could delude themselves into thinking otherwise.  And he was caught in the middle of it again whether he wanted to be or not.  It didn’t matter what others thought.  After watching the very people who said they would handle the situation fail, James decided it was time to look for his own solution. He was **NOT** going to let HYDRA make him their puppet again.

He tried to lift his bionic arm to break open the Cyro tube.  His heart clenching when nothing happened.  _“My arm! Where in hell is my arm?!”_  His breathing started coming in short labored rasps.  A rush of unpleasant images moved across the screen of his mind’s eye.  Stark.  James had killed Stark’s family and the man had shot off his arm.

He could still fight his way out of there.  But he didn’t know how many HYDRA agents there were.  “ _I can’t do anything if I’m stuck in this God Damn tube!_ ” James clenched his jaw, anger kindling in his gut.

Corbin, noticed the Winter Soldier moving around.  “ _He’s waking up!_ ”

“ _Finally.  Get the scientists ready to begin_.” Ivan ordered, his voice ringing with authority.  Turning he faced the Winter Soldier and started confidently reciting a list of words in Russian.    _“Brooklyn, Commando, America, Nazi.”_   He smiled inwardly, thinking, _“This fucker will rip the traitor Romanoff to shreds.”_

James thrashed violently against the walls of the cyro tube. Waiting for the words to affect him.  Turn him back into a mindless killer.  When nothing happened, he froze.  “ _They don’t know the right words; HYDRA doesn’t have the book.”_  He felt a flicker of hope, then a rolling wave of fiery rage ripped through his chest.

For a moment James’ brain couldn’t digest the information.  This couldn’t be happening.  He’d had himself put back in cyro to make sure HYDRA never touched him again, and here he was, smack dab in the middle of a pile of shit too tall to climb over.  “ _No one is making it out of here alive, no one but me!”_  James thought savagely.  He slowly turned the haze of rage and anguish into a cold fury that could be directed with a reprisal so horrible the screams of the men trying to control him would reverberate in hell.

No fucking way was James going to give them the chance to figure out what the correct words were.   But the man standing in front of him didn’t need to know that, at least not yet.   He was in a desperate situation.  The impulse to act immediately trying to override his years of training.  It was foolish.  No matter how bad things were, the first step was always the same: Assess the threat and figure out how bad things **really** were. 

James shut his eyes and breathed deeply.  He needed to get a grip on his emotions.  Compartmentalize.  He worked hard for it.  When action was required, he reacted.  Precisely.  Effectively.  Deadly.  But first, he needed to collect his calm.  It was how he always accomplished things.  If it was possible to win, he won.  This would be no different.  So now, once again, he would proceed with calm.  He would plan.  He would execute.

The stark reality was he was still fighting a war, a war that for him should have been over decades ago.  A war James was afraid would never be over.  _“They want me for something. The question I need answered, before I kill them, is what.”_   The only way to learn that, was to get himself released from the cyro unit and get them talking.

James tasted the bile rising in his throat as he looked at the unbroken glass of the cyro unit.   His face a blank mask, his body held rigid, James forced himself to say the words he had sworn he would never say again. _“Ready to comply.”_  His voice was so low and gruff; he could barely hear it over the screaming in his head.  He felt as if he’d betrayed his very soul.

 _“Good, Soldier. I am Ivan Stasevich._   _HYDRA has a mission for you.”_  Ivan replied in Russian, reaching out to enter a command on the nearby console to open the Cryo chamber.  “ _But first you will need for them to give you a new arm_.”  He continued, switching to a heavily accented English while pointing to the Wakandan scientists standing at the other side of the room.

James glanced around the lab, the smell of cleaning solvents filling his nostrils.  His eyes felt as if they were burning from the harsh light that seemed to cut right through the room after so long in the darkness.  He counted three HYDRA soldiers and another two men in lab coats.  

A tall, wiry HYDRA agent, with greasy blonde hair was pacing the lab.  Constantly checking the exits.  James decided that he must be the one Ivan called Corbin.  Ivan himself was a short, muscular man, with a shaved head, and a neck like a tree trunk.  The third, looked like a lumber jack on steroids.  All three of them armed with HYDRA’s standard FN Five-seveN pistols.  James could take them out easily enough, but that wouldn’t get him the answers he was looking for.

He looked back at Ivan “ _What is my mission?_ ” He spoke evenly, forcing his body to remain relaxed and his eyes hooded, suppressing the rage he was feeling.

Ivan picked up a dossier off a nearby table, opened it and scanned its contents.  His hazel eyes looked back up at the Winter Soldier as he spoke _“The Black Widow has become a **problem** for us._   _She must be eliminated so HYDRA can be victorious.”_   His tone derisive, making it clear that he thought every little of the Black Widow’s chances of destroying HYDRA.  But he’d been given specific instructions on what to say to the Winter Soldier.

James had to think fast, they were talking about Romanoff, no one had mentioned Steve.  But that didn’t mean they weren’t planning on using him against Steve again.  _“What of Romanoff’s partner, Captain Rodgers?”_   he probed, trying to sound uncaring, while the fear that Steve could be in danger wrapped around him like a cold, dark mist.  He couldn’t move.  He couldn’t so much as even breath as he waited to hear Ivan’s response.

 _“The Captain is a criminal now, hiding.  He has no friends and no support, the Avengers are fractured.  He is no threat to anyone.”_  Ivan lifted his lip in a sneer, ridicule dripping from every word.  _“No, the Black Widow is your target.  She’s the one we care about and we are leading her into a trap for you.  Your mission is to eliminate her._   _But first come, we will give you a new arm.  Better than the one you had before.”_  Impatiently indicating that he wanted the Winter Soldier to follow him, Ivan turned and stalked across the lab.

James let out the breath he’d been holding when he heard Ivan say they weren’t targeting Steve.  He quickly processed the information.  Steve was safe. Bloody hell!  As much as he tried to keep calm, he knew, as a cold immutable fact, that he would do anything necessary to keep it that way.  Romanoff however, James decided, was a different story.  

 _“She must be causing HYDRA a hell of a lot more than a little trouble._   _That I can work with_.”  James thought, having already determined what he was going to do.  What he told himself he had to do.  His hand clenched as the vaguest outlines of a plan began to come together.  His heartrate began to accelerate again.  He took a deep breath, and then another.

James wouldn’t allow HYDRA to turn him against Steve again.  Even if it meant using Natasha Romanoff as bait.   He attempted to pacify his guilt with the facts.  HYDRA wanted Romanoff dead.  James would use her to draw them out.  Steve was family and James had always been taught you must protect your family no matter what.  No matter what you had to do to protect them.

Still, a sliver of doubt threaded through his mind and caused a second of hesitation.  James wrestled with it for a moment, and then stuffed it back into the deepest recesses of his brain.  Now was not the time for second thoughts.  The reality of the situation he found himself in settled over James like a blanket of iron that threatened to choke him.

A vision of him shooting Romanoff in DC hit James hard. “ _That woman is **Not** going to be happy to see me.”_  He thought stoically.  But he was going to need Romanoff’s cooperation and one way or another he planned on getting it.   

First though, he would need to get out of Wakanda.  Preferably with the new Bionic arm they were so graciously offering him.  James warily followed Ivan over to what resembled a modified dental chair.  Standing next to it were the two men in lab coats.  Taking a seat when Ivan indicated he should do so.

James observed the two scientists guardedly.  Both moved in choreographed silence as they focused solely on the new bionic arm.  Something was off about them; they were transfixed by his new arm, neither seemed fully conscious of what was happening around them.  Two twin sets of dark brown eyes devoid of any awareness or emotion.   Making James more than a little uneasy about what they were going to do to him.

The idea of letting them put him under to reattach his arm sent a slither of apprehension through James.  He’d have no way of knowing where he’d wake up, or if he’d still have his memories when he did.  But he the man calling himself Ivan, and the other two, were low-level HYDRA lackeys.  Killing them was not going to end HYDRA.  _“If I want to fucking destroy HYDRA, I’m going to need to go after the ones at the top.  For that I’m going to need my arm and Romanoff.”_

“ _You will begin the procedure now.  You must hurry before the enemy can attack again and the war is lost.”_ Ivan ordered, impatient with the scientists. 

Ivan’s words confused James, but they galvanized the scientists into action.  James took a closer look at the two men.  They moved in strange jerky motions, like an automation.  Shuffling about the lab robotically.  That’s when it struck him, the scientists were under HYDRA’s control.  They weren’t a willing part of this. They thought they were reactivating him to fight some war, not help HYDRA.

“ _HYDRA fucking did to them, what they do to me_!”  James’ stomach knotted in anger and revulsion. This was going to complicate matters for him.  “ _Great!_   _Now I need to get rid of these assholes and add rescue the hostages to my to-do list.”_

One of the scientists spoke up as he approached the Winter Soldier.  _“The new technology has organic elements incorporated into its computing components.  It’s not—in the strictest sense of the term—a biological organism.  But it will attach itself to your nervous system.”_  His tone was matter of fact, devoid of all emotion.

 Lifting a needle off a tray the other scientist stepped forward, “ _I’m sorry, usually we would sedate you for this but I’m afraid we don’t have time.  We will have to use a local anesthetic instead.”_  His liquid brown eyes were downcast, his face apologetic.  Uncomfortable with the way they were about to perform the procedure.

James gave no reply just a simple nod of agreement.  He knew that in any kind of sabotage operation, the most important thing was to keep your enemy thinking you're on his side.  While it might be painful and unpleasant, _“Nothing sells loyalty like enduring a little pain for the cause.”_  If he were unconscious, he couldn’t control what was done to him.

The scientists jabbed the needle into James shoulder.  “ _The procedure doesn’t require surgery per se.  The Nano bots will attach themselves to your existing electronics, tissues and nerves.  You will have full control of the arm like you had before, but it will be stronger.  You will also be able to camouflage it.”_   The scientists explained.

 “ _Just get on with it!”_  Ivan snapped, his body tensing.  He had been warned to ensure everything went according to plan, and to be in and out as quickly as possible.

Ivan wanted to depart before someone in Wakanda discovered they were there.  He’d been ordered to keep the mission covert.  No one was to know they’d been there until it was too late to stop them.  The longer this took the more likely they would be discovered.  Ivan knew better than to fail a mission for General Lukin.

The briskness of Ivan’s tone had the scientists scrambling to comply with his order.  The Wakandan that had administered the anesthetic gave James a leather strap, his hand trembling slightly.  _“You may want to bite down on this while the arm is being attached.”_

James placed the strap into his mouth and nodded at the two to proceed.  One of the scientists carefully lifted the new bionic arm, aligning it with the stub were his old arm used to be.  He activated several clamps that grabbed James shoulder to keep the bionic arm in place during the procedure.  Once he’d finished, the other scientist began typing commands into a computer.   

Suddenly there was nothing but a blanket of pain, stretching infinitely on all sides, for James.  Every movement, even the tiniest, was torture.  Just breathing in enough oxygen sent white hot needles of pain through the muscles and nerves of his chest.    He felt as if his whole body had been set on fire and was simultaneously being doused with buckets of ice.  A creeping blackness started at the edge of his vision.  A signal that he would lose consciousness soon.

He tried to will the pain away, to get his mind to focus on something, anything else.  Anything but what he was letting them do to him.  Desperate to keep himself from being unconscious with the HYDRA agents still in control.   The only thing James could get his mind to conjure up was as picture of Romanoff.  Her lying on a table with his hand around her throat.  She’d talked to him, but he couldn’t remember what she’d said.  He concentrated on that.

“ _What the **hell** did she say?!_ ”  Something told him it was important to him.  He didn’t know why; all he knew was that it mattered, that he had wanted to say something back to her but couldn’t get the words to form.

One of the scientists and Ivan grabbed onto James to keep him from thrashing about.  “ _I’m…I’m so sorry, but you need to hold still for this_.”  The scientist apologized. Shaken by what they were doing, but unable to make himself stop.

But James couldn’t hear him.  He was lost in his own world. Trying desperately to conjure up the words Romanoff had said to him in Germany.  Slowly James could feel his heart rate steady and his breathing become regular again as the pain began to recede.  What he couldn’t feel was the bionic arm he’d just endured a new form of hell for.  He spat out the leather strap “ _This arm is defective! It’s useless!”_

“ _No, no. It was successful_.”  The scientist that had been standing at the computer was quick to reassure him.  “ _It will take a few minutes for your brain to begin to communicate with the nerves and electronics again.  Once it does, the arm will work.”_

 _“It had better!”_ James hissed.  Still trying to recover from what they had done to him.  Fighting off the headache that threatened to form after trying to bring forth a memory that didn’t want to come.

 _“It will.”_  The scientist replied, quick to offer reassurance, as he scurried toward James.  _“Here let me show you how to use the camouflage. It’s activated by your fingerprint.  Simply give your wrist a gentle squeeze with your other hand.”_   The Wakandan instructed, holding up his arm and showing James what to do.

James stared at his arm, still obviously a machine.  Metal and synthetic casings covering HYDRAulic muscles.  He mimicked the Wakandan’s movements and watched as his bionic arm turned to flesh.  Amazed, James held out both of his arms, they looked identical.  He reached over with his good arm to feel his bionic one and was shocked to discover that it felt almost like real skin.  The added feature would make it easier for him to blend in among the world’s population. 

 _“How do I turn it off?”_ James inquired.

 _“Squeeze your wrist again.”_   The other scientist spoke up, his tone steadier now that the procedure was over.

 _“He is good then?  There’s nothing else you need to do for him?”_ Ivan asked the scientists, stepping between the two Wakandans and the Winter Soldier.

“ _No, we are finished_.”

“ _Good._ ”  Ivan replied coldly, before raising his gun.  He fired a single shot into the head of each of the Wakandan Scientists.  Then walked across the lab to retrieve the dossier on the Black Widow.

The smell of sweet charcoal smoke with a hint of sulfur from the gun’s propellant, floated through the air.  James’ body tensed, stopping himself from reacting to the cold-blooded murder.  There was nothing he could do for the scientists now.  Instead, he concentrated on the sensations he was starting to feel in his arm.  On the knowledge that Ivan would soon be joining the Wakandans.  James stood and followed Ivan, getting closer to the other two HYDRA agents as well.

Ivan turned and held out a file to James.  “ _Now that you are whole again comrade, we need to leave.  The Black Widow must be dealt with immediately_.  _Everything you need to find her is in here_.”

James knew there was no escape.  He could not turn away, could not leave without accepting what he was about to do.  No matter how much fate piled upon him, he kept ahold of his determination with an iron grip.  _“I’m a soldier. A fighter._   _And now I must fight. Not for the Army, not for HYDRA . . . but for myself, for Steve.”_ He reminded himself.  The only way out of the situation he was in was to **be** the Winter Soldier.

He needed to make his escape before the gunfire drew people into the lab.  If they learned he was awake, they would inform Steve.  He’d already caused Steve enough problems.  James extended his bionic arm out to take the dossier on the Black Widow that Ivan was offering him.  Once he had it firmly in his grasp he swung his arm out with enough force to slice Ivan’s exposed throat open, using the folder as if it were a knife blade.  Blood splattered across James’ face and shirt, but he ignored it.

The other HYDRA agents stood there gaping in shock as Ivan slumped to the floor.  The Winter Soldier used that to his advantage.  He spun around, grabbed the pistol from Corbin’s hands and quickly fired into the third man’s chest.  A double tap to the heart and the man went down.  James turned the weapon on the remaining HYDRA agent. The one Ivan had called Corbin. 

But Corbin had his hands in the air, unwilling to fight the Winter Soldier alone.  Despite being the enemy, the Black Widow had been a good teacher.  One of the things she had taught Corbin was if you can’t win the fight, get yourself out of it.  Survive.  Corbin thought his best chance at that was to try reasoning with the man standing in front of him. 

“ _Look man, we’re on the same side.  We’re HYDRA_.” Corbin croaked, desperation filling his eyes.  “ _Man, you don’t know the Widow like I do, I can help you.  I trained with her.  She’s fucking vicious.  When she learns that Ivan killed civilians she won’t stop until she takes you down.”_

The Winter Soldier looked at the other man, his blue eyes cold and furious.  Revulsion etched in the harsh lines of his face.  In a voice that cracked hate lie a whip, he replied, “ _No! You’re HYDRA.  I’d rather die on my terms than live on theirs._ ”   

James lifted Corbin off the floor, almost tearing the man’s collar… He heard the slight rasp of material ripping.   Then James bashed Corbin’s head into the wall.  Knocking the other man unconscious. 

“ _The Black Widow is precisely who I need._   _I’m going to destroy HYDRA_.”  A part of James knew he should feel horrified by what he’d done.  He was still killing.  But his years as a soldier had made him used to burying such things in a dark cellar and moving on.

The whole thing had taken less than a minute.  Now that it was over, the silence was everywhere.  James looked dispassionately down at the folder still in his hand, soaked in blood.  He needed the information inside.   He removed the pages from it, shaking the blood that had seeped onto them off as best he could.

Picking up Ivan’s weapon he stalked out of the lab, his determination growing with every step.  HYDRA needed to be wiped out and it was time for them to learn who they were dealing with.  _“I have a Spider to find.”_

As Corbin, slowly regained consciousness, he looked up and stared into the dead, blue eyes of the red-headed man standing over him.  “ _Comrade, I didn’t…I didn’t know you would be here_.” He said, his voice cracking.  “ _The…the Winter Soldier…We didn’t…He killed everyone, we failed.”_

The man looked down at Corbin as if he were an annoyance to be endured.  “ _You didn’t fail.  Everything went exactly how it was planned_.”  He stated unemotionally before he raised his arm and shot Corbin through the eye.  A malicious smile grew on his face as he turned, silently exiting the lab to report that the mission was a success.  The Winter Soldier would soon make his way to Natalia. 


	4. Hanging Pawns

**New York-February**

Annie Dugan walked slowly beneath the trees of Central Park, hands tucked in the pockets of her dove-gray wool coat. Her restless hazel eyes taking in everything.  She pulled a gloved hand out and checked her watch again.  “ _Seven o’clock_.”  She was a bit early, but that was definitely better than missing her opportunity at all. 

It was a mild morning for mid-February, and the rising sun threw speckled shadows through the trees and over the sweeping lawn.  Annie crossed East Drive and climbed a slight rise before stopping.  She could see the reflection of the sun in the conservatory water, framed against the titanic buildings along fifth avenue.  It looked like a scene from a painting.

Annie glanced around the panorama before her, heart beating fast.  _“It’ll be okay; I can do this.  Dr. Fennhoff said I was ready. And he’s right.”_ She whispered to herself.  

She couldn’t keep avoiding life anymore.  A year had passed since her brother Jack’s death and it was time for her to get back out in the world.  She needed to do what Dr. Fennhoff had suggested and honor her brother and her grandfather’s memories, not hide from them.  The best way for her to-do that was here, or would be shortly if her sources were correct.

The sound of a bicycle bell pulled her out of her thoughts.  She glanced around once more.  A young couple sat on a bench, oblivious to everything but each other.  On the next bench over was a short, balding older man reading the New York Times.  Tourists and Joggers passed by in small streams.  And there he stood beside the lake, motionless.  A bodybuilder’s physique, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt that looked too small for him.  His blonde hair almost platinum in the early-morning light.  Captain Steve Rodgers.

Annie’s throat felt tight and dry, and the chain with her cross felt constricting around her neck.  She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.  She opened them again and forced herself across the lawn before her courage fled, leaves crunching under her feet.

Steve watched warily as the pretty woman with strawberry-blond hair approached him.  All the muscles in his body tensed as his eyes narrowed in on her face.   He briefly wondered when he’d become the sort of person who saw every stranger as a possible threat.  But he knew the answer.  Ever since he had stood up against Colonel Ross and the Accords. 

The risk of just being there in New York again was huge.  He was bound to be recognized and he never knew if the person was looking for an autograph or to turn him in and collect a reward.  But he was tired of bouncing from one country to another, hiding in the shadows, and trying to stay under everyone’s radar. 

Having to continuously change his persona and pretend to be someone he was not, Steve had learned quickly, took a lot of energy, hard work and patience.  Nat had always made it seem as effortless as taking her next breath.  How she had maintained so many different cover ID’s, all at once, over the years was beyond Steve’s comprehension.  He found it exhausting just trying to pull off one for any great length of time.  He was always forgetting what lie he had told someone and finding himself in a tough spot.

So he had returned home to Brooklyn to try to live a less complicated life.  And to be honest because quite simply, he was in love with Brooklyn.  He didn’t mean “love” in the provincial way, he meant he was “in love” with the city.  The way you love the first person who ever touches your heart and you never love anyone quite that way again.  Brooklyn was home.  

Steve filled his lungs with a ragged breath of air, letting the myriad scents of the city pull him away from his thoughts as the woman drew closer.  He observed her guardedly.  She was young, around thirty, tall and lithe with a good body, athletic, not skinny.  Her hair shoulder length was curly, parted in the middle framing high cheekbones, and a dainty nose.

Annie stopped a few feet short of him.  She gave him a warm and inviting smile, but she looked nervous.  She extended her hand out and Steve automatically reciprocated the friendly gesture.  He looked down at her and realized her eyes were exceptional, true hazel, like granite seen under green water.  Eyes that spoke of an innocence he didn’t often see in the city.

_“Captain Rodgers.”_ Annie spoke softly as she shook Steve’s hand _“I’m Annie Dugan.  I believe you knew my grandfather Timothy Dugan.”_  She stared up into eyes so pure and clear a blue they reminded her of ice chips.

 Steve was momentarily stunned, but a smile blossomed across his face, his eyes incredulous.  _“You’re DumDum’s granddaughter?”_   A wave of happiness rippling through him.

Annie laughed at the nickname, her strawberry-blonde curls strewn across her face as she swayed her head.   _“Yes, but I would never have gotten away with calling him that.”_

_“You have his laugh.”_  Steve chuckled in return, still shaking her hand.  Suddenly remembering his manners Steve let go, although the urge to fold her up into a bear hug instead was almost overwhelming. 

_“Yes, I’ve been told”_ Annie demurred, a hint of sadness passing through her eyes. 

 Her brother used to make fun of her for it.  Now he would never tease her again and she missed that.  She shuffled from foot to foot, looking slightly embarrassed.  She wasn’t sure what to say now that the introductions were over.  She was fairly certain that starting with _“I’m a freelance reporter and I’d like to do a story about Bucky Barnes_ ” wasn’t it.  No matter how good her intentions were.

Steve noticing her sudden unease reached out and put a comforting hand on her arm. _“You wanna-I dunno-get coffee or something?”_  He waited for her answer, afraid that she would decline.  She was now the only connection to his past he had left and he didn’t want her to disappear as quickly as she’d arrived.

_“I don't really like coffee”_ she stage-whispered, her voice light, her eyes dancing with humor.   _“But I don't really like it when my head hits my desk when I fall asleep either._   _So yes I’d like that.”_

_“Great! I know just the place.”_ Steve replied, letting out the breath he’d been holding.  He turned and guided her back toward the city, telling her one of his favorite stories about her grandfather as they walked to catch a cab.

Twenty minutes later the cab halted on 34th street in front of a small diner.  While Steve paid the driver, Annie stepped out onto the sidewalk to wait for him.  Painted in big red letters on the window was the name Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  As the cab pulled away, Steve walked around and opened the door for her.  The look Annie gave him said she was charmed by the gesture.  Steve noticed the look, but he was supposed to open doors, pull out chairs and help with coats.  If Annie thought it was old-fashioned, then fine.  Guilty as charged. 

Annie stepped inside, her eyes opening wide, her mouth forming an O, as she took in the décor.  The floor a gleaming black and white checkered pattern in large tiles.  White Formica tables, red vinyl chairs and booths were scattered everywhere.  What Annie assumed to be the door to the kitchen and the counter painted a bright, powdered-blue.  The place even had a jukebox pushed up against the back wall.

_“Umm, Wow.”_ Was all Annie could manage. 

_“I know it’s a kind of bright, but it has the best food around.”_ Steve replied sheepishly as they were shown to a table.  The smell of bacon floated through the air as if to confirm his declaration on the quality of the food.

_“I like it. It's got that let’s-drown-ourselves-in-better-days type ambiance.”_   She bantered back.

_“Now maybe”_ Steve said as they took their seats.  _“This place was a pool hall back before the War.  Bucky used to say it was a place where gassing the wrong punks is liable to get you pasted in the puss.”_

They ordered coffee, Annie asking for extra cream and sugar with hers.  She carefully studied the menu, hoping the time she spent reading each items description, didn’t seem to be the obvious pretense that it was.  She couldn’t remember ever feeling this anxious.  Steve had brought up Bucky once this morning already and she’d seen the look of loneliness that had passed across his face when he had.  It was a feeling she understood all too well, sometimes loneliness made the loudest noise.  How was she supposed to get what she came here for without causing him more pain?

Sensing the change in atmosphere between them Steve leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and cradle his coffee cup between his hands.  He looked across the table at Annie probingly, his voice polite but serious.  _“Are you ready to tell me why you came looking for me this morning?”_   He wasn’t so naive as to think it had been a simple coincidence.

Annie looked up startled, she took a few calming breaths as she laid her menu down.  Setting her apprehension aside, she chose her words carefully before replying.  _“My brother died a year ago, after my grandfather passed away he was the only family I had left.”_   She began, a cloud of grief momentarily passing through her eyes.  _“So, in part, it’s because I grew up hearing stories of you and the Howling Commandos.   It was almost as if you, all of you, were a part of the family.  I’ve missed…I’ve missed that.”_ Annie’s voice trailed off.

Steve reached across the table and gave Annie’s hand a gentle squeeze in understanding, waiting patiently for her to continue.  Her eyes met his as she battled with her guilt, she didn’t want to cause the Captain anymore pain.

_“I’m a reporter.”_ Annie blurted out before her courage fled.  She watched Steve straighten in his seat, his face a mask of disappointment, so she rushed to continue.  _“My grandfather told me so many wonderful stories about Sergeant Barnes when I was a child.  But over the last several years all I’ve read are stories of his villainy.  It isn’t right, what happened to him wasn’t his **Fault**!”_

Steve blinked in surprise.  _“You want to write a story about Bucky?  A good one?”_   he asked warily.  He could count on one hand the number of people who’d had anything even remotely good to say about Bucky. 

“Yes.”  She replied, earnestly leaning forward in her seat, her heart beating rapidly.  It was important to Annie that Steve understand, that he agreed with, what she wanted to do.  _“They are writing the Sergeant’s story as if being the Winter Soldier is all that defined him.  People need to be reminded of his heroism.  He needs to be allowed to return home celebrated, not feared.”_

Steve got caught up in the idea that he had found someone who felt the way he did about Bucky.   _“Bucky fought the war until his face was bloody, his body broken and his soul cracked._   _But no one cares about any of that.”_   He declared vehemently, his hands coming down flat and hard on the Formica table.  The imagine of Bucky falling from the train flashing through his mind. 

_“I think it’s very sweet, sticking up for your friend like that.”_

_“I’m not trying to be sweet,"_ Steve said, raising his voice over the noise of the diner so Annie could hear. _“I’m trying to be fair. But apparently, no one’s interested in that.”_

_“I am.”_ Annie offered, trying to remain professional in the face of so much emotion.  _“But if you want the rest of the world to accept him, then first we have to show Sergeant Barnes as vulnerable and wounded.  He can’t appear to lack remorse for his time with Hydra.”_    Annie looked across the table at blue eyes so sad-looking, they wrenched her heart like a gut punch.

Steve’s voice when it came out sounded bitter, startling him.  _“Bucky has been ripping himself to shreds with the guilt over what he was made to do.”_

Annie nodded in understanding, laying a gentle hand on top of Steve’s. _“My grandfather told me that Sergeant Barnes used to fight with all he had, go into battle led by heart and faith, that even when he had nothing left the Sergeant would keep fighting.  Maybe what Sergeant Barnes needs now is people to fight for him.”_

When Bucky was finally free from the Cryo Steve wanted Bucky to know that he had people on his side and a family to return to.  Annie’s offer of help represented a tie to the past, a road to the future, a rope ladder from heaven.  But he wasn’t sure if he could hold on to the delicate flower of hope that she was offering.  Steve’s phone buzzed pulling him out of his melancholy thoughts.  He glanced down at the screen seeing Sam’s name across it.

_“I’m sorry, I need to take this.”_ Steve said, apologetically. 

Annie simply nodded and waited patiently, thinking to herself that she would have to call her therapist Dr. Fennhoff later and let him know today had been a success.  As the call continued, she watched Steve’s face grow heavy with worry and anger.  _“Is everything all right?”_   She inquired politely once Steve had hung up.

_“Someone broke Zemo out of the Raft.”_   He replied, his blue eyes turning cold and hard.

_“I heard about that a week ago, I thought you knew.”_

_“I don’t know anything other than that.  Apparently no else does either, not who did it or where they went, nothing.”_   The frustration evident in Steve’s voice.

_“All I can tell you is that it was someone with red hair.  The reporters I know that cover this kind of thing all have money on it being the Black Widow.  There are rumors going around that she’s gone rogue or mercenary.”_   Annie shared.

Staggered Steve drew in a few calming breaths.  _“Nat! It can’t be.”_   He hadn’t had any contact with her since Germany, but he couldn’t imagine her going mercenary.  Nor could he believe Nat would betray him this way.  But she had a history of doing things without telling him what she was up to or why she was doing it.  If Nat _was_ involved, Steve had to believe she had a darn good reason for it.

_“You should eat a waffle!”_   Annie exclaimed suddenly, waving for their waitress, and causing Steve to look over at her with a bewildered expression on his face.  _“You’re upset, and you can’t be upset when you’re eating a waffle.”_  She explained, sounding as though waffles were the answer to all of life’s problems. 

_“Alright,”_ Steve laughed, momentarily convinced.  learning about Zemo had caused his worry over Bucky ever being able to come home to skyrocket.  But Annie was a good woman, a natural at making other people feel better.  

He would figure out how to keep Zemo away from Bucky later, when he was alone.  He would also call Clint and ask him if he’d heard anything about what Nat was up to these days.  Steve loved Bucky as if he were his brother and felt that he was missing out on so much that life had to offer.  A warm bed to come home to, a good woman.  A woman like Annie.  Steve pursed his lips in thought, this was definitely something to consider.

 

**The Barton Farm later that afternoon.**

Laura Barton ambled into her kitchen surveying the chaos. The cabinet doors were ajar and every surface was littered with salt and pepper and flour and potholders and kids school projects.  It wasn’t neat.  It didn't even look efficient.  But when she entered it she felt the pulse of life thrumming from every corner and she wouldn’t change a thing **.**

_“Clint”_ Laura called out loudly as she walked to the refrigerator. _“I’m making sandwiches for Wanda and the kids, do you want one.?”_    Surprised when she heard a door creak open, she hadn’t really expected a reply. 

Her husband had been hold up all morning in what he euphemistically referred to as his office.  Which to Laura was only mildly better than him starting yet another new home improvement project.  And home improvement projects of Clint’s ranked right up there with root canals and a house full of kids with chicken pox.

_“That’d be great, I’m starving.”_   Clint replied as he stepped into the kitchen, sounding frustrated and strained.  He gave Laura a kiss on the cheek as he walked by.

Laura started piling cold cuts and cheese on the table. _“Clint, honey, hand me that bread over there,”_ she said, pointing to the counter behind him.  Her brown eyes not missing a thing, something was bothering her husband.

He handed her the bread and she smiled.  She had a sort of lopsided, open smile.  She was wearing her hair in a braid today and as usual, by lunchtime, the curls and ringlets of her thick, brown mane had managed to escape in rebellious little tendrils.  He could get lost in her dark eyes, a deep brown, the color of very strong espresso. The kind that gave you an intense hit of caffeine, that kept you wired and awake for hours. That buzzed in your veins and made you a little crazy.  Eyes, Clint noticed, that were currently assessing him with worry.

_“I’m fine Laura.”_   He said, trying to head off the argument he could see gathering on her face.  They were arguing more and more lately.

_“Really, could have fooled me.”_   She replied using her best mom-voice on him.  The one that said she knew bullshit when someone was trying to shovel it at her.  She laid the butter knife down on the table and folded her arms across her chest.  _“Wanna try again.”_

He’d been driving her crazy since before Christmas.  He’d been edgy and irritable and she’d contemplated ending his life twice, just this month alone.  But he’d slipped under her skin, invaded her blood and seized her heart years ago, for better or worse she loved him dearly.

Clint rubbed a hand over his face and sighed tiredly.  _“Steve called, someone broke Zemo out of prison.”_

Laura lets her hands drop _“Someone?  Who?!  Is Steve all right?”_  

_“I'm not saying he was, like, crying tears of man pain over the phone, but he sounded upset.”_   Clint answered, ignoring her first two questions and hoping she wouldn’t notice.  It was a vain hope.

_“There’s something you’re not telling me, what is it.  Does Steve know who did this?”_ Laura persisted.

Clint looked around to make sure no one else in the house could hear them.  The sound of a balloon popping and laughter upstairs told him the kids were off playing and Wanda usually spent her days outside in the barn.  _“The Cap doesn’t know anything for sure.  But he thinks…He thinks it might have been Nat.”_  He answered, His voice a jumble of hurt and disappointment, his dove-blue eyes reflecting his voice. 

He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Nat doing this.  And if she’d had no other choice, of not at least finding a way to give them a heads-up.  But he hadn’t heard from her since Germany.  Not one single God damn word to even check on the kids or Laura.   He and Natasha had battled and bloodied one another before, kept secrets, lied, they had walked away, said good-bye and sworn it was forever, and somehow, every time, they had healed, they had forgiven, they had survived.  But not this time apparently.

Laura refused to believe it.  Zemo’s interference when the Avengers had been fighting over the Accords had nearly cost her and her family everything.  Clint had been arrested and thrown into a deep dark hole.  If it hadn’t been for Steve, her kids may have grown up without a father.  Now Laura lived in constant fear that the location of their farm would be discovered and one day someone would show up to take Clint and Wanda away for good.  Nat would never risk that, no matter how angry with Clint she might be at the moment.

Of course, if it hadn’t been for Steve her husband would never have been arrested in the first place.  Laura didn’t place all the blame at Steve’s feet.  No, Clint’s own idiotic decision to take a stand against the Accords had contributed.   A choice Laura had vehemently disagreed with.  She’d had a front row seat to what the likes of Loki could do. 

Laura clenched the table, her expression an odd mix of anger, denial, and confusion.  _“Nat, did not do this.”_ It wasn’t a question, just stated fact.  

Something flickered over Clint’s expression at that.  He picked up a baseball mitt left by one of the kids and examined it as if it held all the answers _.  “What we do know is that it was someone with red hair.  Nat’s the only redhead I know of with the requisite skill set needed to pull it off.”_   Clint said, resignedly. 

Laura dropped down onto one of the table chairs, stunned.   _“And that’s what you think?  That Nat, did it? That she betrayed her friends?”_

_“I don’t know what to think.  It’s not as if I have any idea how to find Nat.”_ Clint replied bitterly, hating the direction the conversation had taken.  _“All I’ve gotten from her is silence for almost a year.  And this time her silence has an actual sound, the sound of disappearance from our lives.”_

_“Then do something about it!”_ Laura snapped back, angrily. 

_“I’ve been leaving her messages for months.  It’s not like I haven’t tried.”_ Clint dropped the baseball mitt back on the table and leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest, his jaw set in a mutinous line. 

Laura looked up at the ceiling trying to find her patience. _“Stop waiting around for her to suddenly knock on our front door, go find Nat.”_   She was tired of not having her family altogether and Nat was part of the family.  She was also tired of her husband acting like one of the kids when their favorite toy had been broken.  Refusing to admit he missed his closest friend.  _“Knock her unconscious and tie her up if you have to, but bring her home.”_

Clint didn’t even know where to begin looking for Nat.  She wasn’t staying at any of her safe houses, at least any that he knew of.  Up until this morning he’d assumed, from the rumors about Natasha’s recent activities, that she’d been working with Fury.  Now Clint wasn’t so sure.  And the last time he’d asked Fury about Nat, Fury’s response had been _“I didn’t know it was my turn to babysit Romanoff.”_ That didn’t mean Fury didn’t know exactly where Nat was, it just meant if he did, he wasn’t going to tell Clint.

_“I thought my leaving you and the kids alone with Wanda made you nervous.”_ Clint said, sounding defiant.   He was as worried about Nat as Laura and the kids were, but he was also angry with Nat.  Cutting people out of your life was easy, keeping them in was hard.  Nat had taken the easy way out and Clint couldn’t help feeling hurt by it.

Laura wasn’t going to lie.  Wanda was a sweet girl, but she’d seen what that sweet kid had done to Nat and the others before.  So yes, Wanda did make her a little nervous and Laura understood why entire governments felt the same way.  But Wanda had been living with them for almost a year now without any problems, and Nat had been out of touch for just as long. 

_“I’ll put up with being a little uneasy Clint, if it means you’ll finally stop mopping around, get off your ass, and go find Nat.”_

The minutes ticked by neither saying a word to the other.  Laura picked up the knife and finished making lunch for everyone, the kids would be screaming they were hungry soon. 

The anger Clint had felt, anger at Natasha for the situation and at himself, dissipated.  Whatever was going on, Nat was involved somehow. Clint could sense it.  Which meant she could find herself in a world of trouble without decent backup.  As hurt as he felt by her disappearance, he wasn’t about to risk something happening to Nat.  

He fisted a hand around the long braid in Laura’s hair, pulling her head back.  _“I love you.”_ He said, before kissing her.  _“I’ll leave in the morning. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, this could take a while.”_ He warned.

_“I love you too. Just bring Nat home where she’ll be safe.”_ Laura replied, just as the sound of a crying came over the baby monitor.

_“I’ll get Nathaniel, you feed the rest of the horde.”_    Clint said, earning him a grateful smile from his wife as he left the kitchen to go take care of their teething son.


	5. A Mysterious Rook Move

James snapped awake to discover the rain had stopped overnight. The first pale veins of sunlight were passing through any minuscule hole they could reach to illuminate the green background of the dense jungle canopy.  The rising temperatures made the air thick on his tongue.  Stench from the decaying vegetation filled his nostrils, reminding him of rotting eggs. 

Despite that, it looked as if it would be a halfway decent morning.  But he knew better than to put his trust in that sort of thing.  Rain or shine this was still the Amazon.  Angry with himself for having dozed off.  He was in a predatory mood and continued doing what he’d been doing for the last four days: lying in wait for his prey to arrive. 

_“Where the hell are you, Romanoff?”_ he grumbled, to the wildlife keeping him company, impatiently pushing his wet hair out of his face. 

The longer he remained out there the greater chance he had of HYDRA catching up to him.  James had to rely on the notion that the last place HYDRA would look for him was precisely where they had wanted him to go.  He didn’t want to contemplate how screwed he was if Romanoff never showed up.  But it was starting to look like that might be a very real possibility. 

The woman was smart.  There was every chance she had already figured out this was supposed to be a trap and had decided against playing along.  James shook his head, no.  Nothing in her profile suggested that she wouldn’t still come.  If she knew what HYDRA was up to, she’d adjust and arrive with a plan of her own.

James stomach cramped and twisted with guilt as he thought about Romanoff.  Remembering everything he had learned about her. She was trying so hard to be something better than what she’d been; he couldn’t help wonder _“Am I really going to fuck all that up for her?”_

But he was alone in the field and Romanoff apparently had access to intel and resources.  Both would prove invaluable to James in his fight against HYDRA.  And he reminded himself, she was already in her own fight against the organization.  If he didn’t find her, he had no clue where to go next.  Involving her was a stab in the dark.  That’s all he was doing.  Stabbing in the dark trying to figure out how to accomplish his mission. 

He had to decide whether to take actions that could hurt her.  Weigh the consequences against what could happen if he did nothing.  HYDRA could still go after Steve in an attempt to regain control of him.  Turn him back into the Winter Soldier. That was not an option.  James would rather die than allow HYDRA to get anywhere near Steve.  

But if he acted, if he took that step, and involved Romanoff.  He knew that no matter the reason, whatever the costs were, he would be involving her in something terrible.  But what choice did he have.  He knew who he was now and what needed to be done.  But beyond that he was a blank.  He had no idea how to get to those in charge.

James took a swig of water from his flask, the tepid liquid sliding down his parched throat.  He rolled his tense shoulder and neck muscles, and returned to lying in a prone position.  He let his elbows meld to the damp jungle floor as he positioned himself with his rifle.   Ignoring the fact that he was laying on hundreds of years of rotting leaves, millions of insects and more roots than Marco Polo could map.  

He peered through his scope and settled in for more hours of tedium, cramping pain, and a thousand mosquitoes feasting on every inch of his exposed flesh.  Below the ridge he was on, was a clearing carved out of the Jungle, several buildings scattered around it.  In the center was a large building, with a bright-red cross painted on its roof and the letters DWB written on its front door. 

Someone wanted people to believe they had stuck a Doctor’s Without Borders clinic in the middle of the jungle. Miles away from the nearest village.  The camouflage would work as long as no one got a close look at the place.  James had been watching them for four days.

He could tell a lot about a group from looking at their base of operations. Their fortifications said they were focused on defense not offense, and their armored Land Rovers and motorcycles told him they were highly mobile. The most important thing to check: their weapons.  Eight men, guarding the perimeter, carrying AK47s on full auto, meant James probably wasn’t dealing with amateurs camping in the Amazon.  Nor was he watching a group of Doctors from DWB.

He flicked his rifle scope to infrared to make a cursory scan of the four men he knew would be inside the main building.  He counted five hostiles on the other side of wall.  He pulled back from the scope.  Five.  _“Shit!”_ James snarled, his jaw clenching hard, forcing a muscle to leap up his cheek.

Someone had slipped past him while he’d slept. 

He put his eye back up to the scope. With infrared, James could tell the difference between an elephant, a human and a cat.  But he couldn't tell what gender or who it was.  He had no way of knowing if it was Romanoff or another player.  At first the five all remained stationary, instantly they exploded into a kaleidoscope of red moving across James’ vision.  After several minutes of watching the dizzying dance of color play out, it stopped.  Only one of the five people inside the building was still standing.    

Natasha drew in a couple of deep breaths and surveyed the group of unconscious men lying on the floor in front of her.  One of them stirred so she casually zapped him with a Widow’s bite as she walked across the room.  

Stopping she examine a photograph pinned to one of the walls. Her body tensed as she studied it, her gut struck with a frozen bullet of shock. She reached out pulling it down to take with her.   Her grip tightening on the picture until her knuckles turned white.  She’d learned from her years in the field, that in any kind of intelligence operation, it’s important to be careful what you wish for.  The information you fight so hard to get, may be everything you wished for, or it may make your life more complicated. 

The picture in her hand was definitely going to make her life more complicated.

She felt as if someone was poking at her heart with a cold metal rod.  That carefully placed walls were closing in around her, trapping her, and this time there would be no way out.  She wasn’t just in a fight for her life.  She was in a fight for everything she had tried to become since leaving the Red Room and joining SHIELD.  And despite everything Fury was doing, she was in this fight alone.

_“Someone wants to mess with my head.”_  The thought made her angry, angrier than she could remember being in a very long time.  Her breath quickened in heavy rasps.

Once she had her breathing back under control, she tried to sort out what was going on.  Her mind calculating the odds of all the different possible situations.  It was the scenario that she was most afraid of that weighed the heaviest on her.  Natasha had a bad feeling about where things where headed, and on top of that, for the first time in her life she felt tired.  This threat wasn’t going to go away, and suddenly she wasn’t sure she could find the strength needed to meet the threat.

The shrill of her Satellite phone jarred Natasha’s attention back to her job.  The only person who had the number was Fury, and he wouldn’t call unless it was urgent.  But still, Nick couldn’t have picked a more inconvenient time if he’d tried.  She tucked the photograph inside her Tac suit, and blew out a frustrated breath. Natasha forcefully reigned her raging emotions in and did what she did best, compartmentalized.   She would deal with the implications of the picture later.  

Keep a cool surface. Calm. Detached. Natasha reminded herself, it didn’t matter if inside a part of her had been shattered.  She hit the receive button. _“I’m a little busy here.”_ She said in replace of a greeting.

Nick’s voice boomed and crackled across the connection like a thunderstorm.  _“You find Zemo?”_

_“No.  He was here, but they’ve already moved him.  I’ve got a lead.  I’ll follow it up after I’m finished here.”_ Natasha replied, eyeing the unconscious men.  _“Meanwhile, I’m about to leave you a bunch of hibernating bears. You might want to get people out here to take control of the zoo.  Send some Geeks with them.”_

_“What’d you find?”_

Natasha glanced around the heavily air-conditioned room.  The equipment in it was state of the art. It had centrifuges and PCR machines.  A huge walk-in refrigerator and several water baths. There was also a walk-in shower for chemical decontamination and numerous canisters of gases.  It contained all the necessary equipment for being some kind of biological laboratory.  _“A lab.  Looks like they’ve been cooking up some nasty stuff out here and I’m fairly certain it’s connected to Columbia.”_

_“Shit!”_ Nick barked over the phone. After a brief pause to process the new information, he continued. _“But We’ve got a bigger problem.”_

_“Of course, we do.”_   Natasha said, rolling her eyes.  _“Never a dull moment in the life of Natasha Romanoff.  What’s up?”_

_“Someone let Barnes out of his iceberg.  They left two dead Wakandans and three dead HYDRA soldiers in their wake.  No one knows if someone’s got Barnes on a leash or if he’s prowling around on his own.”_

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.  She glanced back down at the unconscious men.  One of them had been stupid enough to let her know that their orders were to capture her, not kill her.  His mistake.  But Barnes possibly being in play put a whole new spin on things.  Something wasn’t right.

_“Let’s see, Barnes is in the wind, Zemo’s in the wind.   We all love a goddamned train wreck, don’t we?”_   Natasha replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  _“I guess I’d better stop wasting time here and get moving.  I’ll contact you when I’m clear of Panama.”_

_“Then go kick some ass and Nat”_ Nick began, but Natasha cut him off.

_“I’ll be careful.”_   She told him just before disconnecting the call. 

Nick didn’t quite believe her, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.  He knew it served no purpose to order her to be careful; she was a tenacious young woman who listened politely and then did exactly what she wanted to, making up her own rules.  In a way, Nick admitted, she reminded him of himself, as stubborn as the day was long.

Natasha made one more cursory sweep of the room before stepping out into the hallway.  She made her way toward the door that would exit out into the center of the compound, flipping the safety on the two Glocks strapped to her thighs to off, and ensuring that her Widows bites were charged.  Once she reached the door, she snapped her tactical baton out to its full length.  When she’d arrived, she’d made sure none of the guards outside had seen her.  Now she wasn’t trying to hide. 

She wanted to be seen.  That was her plan.  Be brief.  Be bloody. Be gone.

James turned the infrared on his scope off as the figure inside made its way toward the door.  At first, he couldn’t see the person’s face at all, the morning light streaming in from behind her made a halo effect around her head.  But the signature form-fitting, black Tac suit, and the body that had more curves then the Nürburgring racetrack, confirmed that Romanoff had finally decided to show up.  He felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight of her.  He continued watching as she stepped farther out into the compound.  Bold. No backup.  Apparently, he could add reckless to the list of things he knew about her.

He realigned his sight through the scope and put the pad of his index finger on the rifle’s trigger.  There were eight heavily armed men in that compound.  Things were about to get real bloody, real fast.  Romanoff was outnumbered. Outsized. The odds were against her.  But as he studied her through the scope, she looked unaffected.  She wasn’t intimidated, afraid or the least bit worried. And something told him that her confidence wasn’t just a front.  

Natasha waited a few moments for the guards to realize she was even there, scrutinizing them.  They were tall and muscular, built with bodies that were trained to fight, but not overly observant.  She stifled the urge to tap her foot impatiently.  She didn’t relish the idea of hanging out in the oppressive humidity of the jungle all day, waiting for the idiot HYDRA soldiers to catch on to the fact that something was up.

James tried to calculate how fast he could get down the ridge and into the compound.  He could start shooting now.  But he wasn’t sure he could get off enough shots before one of the guards mowed Romanoff down with their AK47.  Before he could finish devising a plan someone sounded the alarm.

_“Fuck.”_   James hissed.  They’d spotted her.  The damn woman was unreal.  She wasn’t even bothering to try to hide or take cover.  Instead, she was heading directly across the middle of the compound, completely exposed.

Gunfire ripped through the air, nearly drowned out by the sounds made by the jungle’s inhabitants. Objecting to the disruption of their peaceful day.  Chaos reigned.

Natasha was already on the move.  The soldiers were firing their guns over her head.  That meant they had the same orders as the men inside.  Capture. Not kill.  Her day had just gotten a little easier.   She headed across the compound toward two small buildings that were relatively close together.   The soldiers scrambling after her.

Fighting in tight quarters with her back against a wall meant cutting off her escape options.  But it created a choke point and forced her opponents to form a single-file line.  If she had to fight a group, it was better to take them one or two at a time.  Half-way between the two buildings Natasha turned and waited for the soldiers to catch up.  She was about to get a chance to relieve some of the pent-up emotions the picture had caused her.

The lead soldier stumbled to a halt seeing the Black Widow just standing there facing them. Her stance nonchalant, relaxed, as if she were making a social call.  _“There’s no were for you to go Widow.  Drop your weapons and you won’t get hurt.”_   He called out to her.

Natasha, tapping a finger to her lips, seemed ponder this for a moment before blithely replying. _“If it’s all the same to you._   _I’ll take option number two.”_

_“And what exactly do you think that is?  There’s no way you’re getting past all of us.”_ The HYDRA soldier jeered, indicating the seven other men behind him.

_“Well, at first I was thinking I would challenge you to a few rounds of Yahtzee, then I realized fighting would be **way** more emotionally satisfying."_ Natasha quipped back.  Her lips curving into a deadly smile as she motioned them to come at her.

The soldier stood, both arms folded over the weapon slung across his chest. _“Your funeral.”_ He replied.  He didn't fear the Black Widow in the least, he didn’t give a fuck about her reputation.  But when she crouched into a fighting stance, the look of amusement dancing in her eyes, brought him close to changing his mind.  

He and one of the other soldiers charged forward initiating the attack against her. The Widow’s baton collided with his cheekbone, snapping his head backward like a Pez dispenser.  He could both feel and hear the bone crushing.  Pain exploding across his face.  As he tumbled, he took the other soldier down with him.  The last thing he remembered was the sting of her Widow’s bite.

Natasha held her stance as the next guy charged.  She saw her advantage and took it.  Using the first guys body as a vault, she launched herself, feet first, at the man in a double leg grapple.  Wrapping her legs around his neck, she used his momentum and swung around to the side, bringing him to the ground.  She felt his neck break as she twisted.  Rotating midair, she landed on one knee with her left hand on the ground.  With her combat knife in hand, she turned to the next attacker.

It was chaos, which was the state Natasha wanted to put the enemy in.  The more confused, the more unsure, the more stressed they were, the better it was for her.  People who were off balance had trouble thinking and usually screwed up.  It was why, in her Red Room training, she’d been deprived of sleep and stressed to the breaking point.  Never allow failure to become an option.  Adapt and overcome.

James’ jaw clenched and flexed beneath the stubble that lined his face. He’d had to quickly move through the jungle foliage and switch his position to see what was happening in the compound.  Once the gunfire had started he’d expected Romanoff to do what any sane person would and take cover in the dense foliage.  But the damn woman had taken off in the opposite direction.  Boxing herself in.  He crouched into his new position behind his sniper rifle, and watched the short exchange between her and one of the HYDRA soldiers. 

He briefly wondered if she was going to give herself up.  That could work to his advantage.  Saving her from HYDRA would go a hell of a lot further toward convincing her he was a friend and not the enemy.  James was just placing his finger over the trigger of his rifle when the fight between Romanoff and the HYDRA soldiers began.  He couldn’t believe they hadn’t just mowed her down with their weapons.  All he could do now was just lay there and watch the action.  He couldn’t risk putting a bullet through Romanoff.

Experience had taught James that people developed a tunnel vision in hand-to-hand combat. They focused on their enemy, oblivious of everything else. The longer the fight went on, the more intense their focus.  There came a point when the adrenaline was so intense, you could land a jet behind them and they wouldn't notice.  From his vantage point, James could see that Natasha Romanoff evidently didn’t suffer from tunnel vision.  The woman was aware of everything and adjusted accordingly. 

Romanoff was liquid in motion.

As James watched her take down one HYDRA soldier after another, one word came to mind: beautiful.  The fight lasted for several tense minutes.  Again, when it was over, the only one left standing was Romanoff.  James felt his muscles uncoil now that the fighting was done.  Peering at her through his scope he could see the smug, satisfied look on her face.  

_“That’s my girl.”_  James thought proudly, even though the sentiment was really problematic. 

Natasha laced her fingers together, turning her palms outward she stretched out her arms.  Her skin glistened with perspiration, she could feel the sweat gathering between her breasts.  She looked down at the strewn bodies of unconscious or dead HYDRA soldiers.  _“Asses kicked”_ She thought to herself, smugly. 

She hadn’t wanted to kill any of them.  After Columbia, they needed people they could interrogate.  But some of them had left with her no other choice. They’d had no organization whatsoever when they’d attacked her, but they had certainly made up for it with their enthusiasm.  Problem one solved.  Time to decide what to do about the other problem she apparently had.

Someone was in the Jungle.  Watching her.  She’d sensed it the moment she’d stepped out of the building.  The question was who.   Another HYDRA soldier?  Clint?  No, if it were Clint some of the bodies would have had arrows sticking out of them.  Was it Barnes lying in wait either to capture or kill her? 

_“I don’t have time to play hide and seek.”_ Natasha grumbled, then let out a heavy sigh.   

Natasha unholstered one of her Glocks, then walked around the bodies and back into the middle of the compound.   Her face was a calm mask of indifference, but her muscles tensed in preparation for another fight.  She paused, gun drawn, and scanned the perimeter around the compound, searching the Jungle for the unknown person. 

The hairs standing up on the back of her neck told her they were still there.  Watching.  Waiting.  She had the fleeting notion of just yelling _“Olly, Olly Oxen Free.”_ To see if anybody would show themselves.

If it had been an unaccounted-for HYDRA soldier, they would already be making their move.  If it were Clint he would be heading her way, yelling at her for the “Stunt” she’d just pulled.  That left door number three.  The Winter Soldier or Barnes.  She didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to discover which mind frame he was in.  Nor was she going to give him another opportunity to leave her shot and bleeding out.   Natasha scanned around the perimeter again. Pausing once to carefully study an area she thought she could detect movement in.

James watched Romanoff searching the area.  He hadn’t figured out what would be the best way to approach her yet, or if he even wanted to.  He wanted to control as many circumstances as he could.  He already had a bad feeling in his gut about the situation.  But then again, he’d have that in any situation that involved HYDRA.

He was fairly certain that two minutes after she’d taken down a HYDRA facility wasn’t smart.  She’d be on the alert for additional enemies, not a potential ally.  Romanoff struck him as the kind of person who would shoot first, ask questions only after he was laying on the ground bleeding from a bullet wound.

He stopped breathing when she paused and stared straight at his location.  James felt as if she was staring right at him.  But that wasn’t possible, he knew he was well hidden.  There was no way she could hear him, or see him at all.  When she’d entered the middle of the compound James hadn’t moved except to breathe.  His eyes moved too, following hers, he noticed the beauty behind her eyes. When the sun shone down in them, they looked as though they were deep enough to hold a universe.  But there was no way for her to detect him.

Natasha quickly ran through her options. She hadn’t wanted to be detected when she’d arrived, and she’d left her vehicle two miles away.   She’d lose a foot-race if it was Barnes. And he’d have a distinct advantage if she headed into the jungle after him.  Arriving at a plan of action, Natasha gave a jaunty salute in the direction she’d thought she’d seen something.  Then she sprinted toward one of the motorcycles.  Her luck holding, she found the keys in the ignition and the machine’s engine roared to life.  Dirt and rocks sprayed out in all directions as she took off like a shot.

Time to find out if the other person wanted to play.  Being hunted wasn't always a bad thing: if Barnes was on her tail, Natasha could pick the route, and knowing she was really good at this, she could lead him into a trap of her own.

_“Fuck!”_ James yelled. 

He grabbed his gear, then half ran, half slide down the embankment. Scattering the Jungle’s wildlife in his effort to reach one of the other motorcycles.  He fell, rolled, and scrambled to his feet, chest heaving, soaked with perspiration.  Decision made.  All he could do now was carry on with the operation. He couldn’t afford to lose her.  When this was all over he’d make it his job to repair the hurt he was about to cause, and the damage he was about to do to her life, or die trying.

Fifteen minutes later, unbeknownst to either Natasha or James an SUV followed them both out of the compound.  The red-haired man driving the vehicle leisurely followed the tracking devices on the two motorcycles.  He had hoped the Winter Soldier would have stepped out of the jungle and exposed himself to Natalia.  The mental image of watching Natalia putting a bullet through the Winter Soldier’s skull put a smile on the man’s face, and whetted his appetite for acts of revenge.  “ _Soon_ ” he thought, as a shiver of anticipation slithered through him.

 It was time for Natalia to return home.   More than past time for her to learn, that her freedom had been nothing more than a mirage.  He would teach her those lessons.


	6. Two Knight's Defense

**Three days later- Natasha’s safe house.**

Natasha switched the security system for her house on, a small beep telling her it had engaged.  She tossed her gear against the wall as an intense cold swept over her.  She felt her breath catch.  The cold went deeper than her skin.  It was inside her very heart.   She paused in the entryway, letting the warmth of the house seep into her.   Driving away the chill and goose bumps from the bitter winter winds outside.  

She was exhausted.  She hadn’t slept in three days playing a cat-and-mouse game with Barnes.  At one point, she’d doubled back to confirm who was following her and get eyes on him.  It was definitely him.  Not once had he tried to approach or attack her.  He hadn’t even bothered to try to close the distance between them.  The mission in Panama and Barnes made her feel as if she were living two lives.  One in the present and one in the past.

She’d pulled out every trick in the book, trying to draw the man in.  She’d changed her appearance multiple times, swapped vehicles repeatedly, driven over a sidewalk full of pedestrians.  She’d even entered a few highways from the exit ramp.  Reserved a flight she never boarded.  In other word’s she’d given a rather convincing appearance of trying to evade pursuit.  But Barnes had done nothing but steadily follow her wherever she had led him.  Whatever he wanted, Natasha thought, he didn’t want it taking place out in the open.  She’d decided, to oblige him.

The decision had led her back home.  Her inside the house with a security system that could take out an attacking Army battalion, and Barnes outside somewhere in the woods.  The problem was she didn’t have time to wait Barnes out.  She’d received additional intel from one of her contacts on Zemo.  She needed sleep and she needed to get moving again.

_“Why the hell isn’t there a self-help section on Kindle that sells guides on dealing with a superpowered stalker?”_   Natasha grumbled, seriously considering going out and just asking him what the hell he wanted. 

If it was a fight, fine she’d give him one.  Natasha needed a way to work out some of her seething emotions, and the latent frustration that she seemed completely incapable of finding an adequate release for.   Barnes was as good a target as any.  If he was looking for Steve, she could honestly tell him she didn’t know or care where Rodgers was at, and Barnes could move the hell along.   But that wasn’t the smart play and she knew it.  Zemo was still out there.  Barnes and Zemo were a combination that could only end in disaster if the two were ever put together again.

She rubbed the heels of her palms over her eyes.  _“Fuck my life.”_  Natasha muttered.  Tired.  Not just from the past few days, but everything.

Her only solace was the fact she knew Barnes hadn’t gotten any more sleep than she had.  Super soldier serum or not, everyone needed sleep.  Hopefully that would give her the window she needed to put the next part of her plan in motion.  If not, she’d have to do it the old-fashioned way and get close enough to knock his ass out.  She didn’t need him following her anymore and she had maybe twelve hours before she would have to leave again.

Natasha prowled around her house, cataloguing her surroundings.  Checking to make sure no one had gotten inside while she’d been gone.  Taking a break to rest and recharge didn’t mean letting down her guard.  Just because Barnes was seemingly still Barnes, didn’t change the fact HYDRA was still after her.   Natasha’s stomach growled, just as she finished making her security sweep.  Disturbing the quiet of the house and, objecting to the length of time she’d gone between meals.  

She lightly sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling against the persistent funk of her own body odor.  Her stomach growled again.  _“I need food and a shower and not necessarily in that order.”_ Natasha mumbled.

As she approached her living-room window, she grabbed the bottom of her dark-blue hoodie and pulled it over her head.  Appearing to the man watching her through her window to be utterly unhurried, completely and maddingly calm. 

Outside a cold wind was blowing from the north, making the trees rustle like living things.  The lake behind James gleaming like a sheet of black glass beneath the stars. The cold air pricked at his exposed skin, but he ignored all that as he observed Romanoff through the window.  He kept watching as inside the house she made her security sweep.  James licked his lips as he took Romanoff in; she was an enigma.

Earlier as he’d watched her in Panama James had been sure he’d had her pegged; pretty, smart, dangerous, slightly reckless but just like any other operative. With his profile of her character in mind, he had felt in control.  It had only been a few hours since James had realized that she hadn’t been trying to lose him over the last several days, she’d been leading him here.  Now that she’d surprised him, his grasp on control felt looser.  He didn’t know what to expect from her and it left him feeling off kilter.

Over the last several hours He’d retraced his every move in Panama and tried to pinpoint where he had slipped.  He still couldn’t pinpoint his mistake.  With frustration and grudging admiration, he had concluded that Romanoff had extremely acute situational awareness.  The question was why had she brought him here?  Was this a trap?  An attempt on her part to capture him, or had she been leading him to Steve.

_“Neither of those things is going to happen Sweetheart.”_   James snorted.

She was good, damn good, he had to admit.  But so was he.  He’d kept to the perimeter on his approach, using trees and bushes and anything else he could for cover.  Avoiding the multiple motion detectors and security cameras around the house.  He noticed the way the light from inside the house prismed on the windows.  Telling him the glass was bulletproof. 

The place was a safe house.  Judging from Romanoff’s movements inside one that she was extremely familiar with.  He scanned the surrounding area, keeping his guard up, looking for any signs that someone else was trying to sneak up on him and surprise him.  But so far, it was still just the two of them.  Playing some type of waiting game that only Romanoff seemed to know the rules to. 

Frustration set in as James realized he had no choice but to wait Romanoff out and see what her next move would be.  He had no idea if she’d realized he was the one following her.  He did know that he’d been wrong in Panama.  She had known someone was in the Jungle watching her, and she’d been the one in control of the situation the entire time.  Before he could approach her, he’d have to make sure their roles were reversed. 

He let movement inside the house draw his attention back to Romanoff as she approached the window.  He watched as she took her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head.  Underneath was a form-fitting green tank top that showed a figure unaccustomed to idleness or excess.  James stared at her the way he had at the flying car at Stark Expo all those years ago.

“ _If she took everything off,_ _she would look a lot less naked.”_   He growled, his eyes narrowing.  The noise echoing through the area.  Birds flying from the trees.

Natasha disappeared into her bathroom and turned the water on in the shower.  As she waited for it to heat up, she finished stripping out of her clothes.  They reeked of too many days of traveling in them.  But the mission was supposed to have been a simple get in, find Zemo, and get out.  She hadn’t planned on spending several days running around Central and North America _._

_“I’ll need to throw these in the laundry before I leave, or this place will smell like a locker room when I get back.”_ She reminded herself, as she stepped into the shower.

Natasha let the steaming water wash over her.  She was as frozen as an ice sculpture.  Her clothes hadn’t been even remotely adequate enough to protect her from the biting winter winds.  She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.  The weather wasn’t the only thing making her feel cold.  An image of the picture she’d found in Panama floated across her mind.  Haunting her like a dangerous poltergeist.  She could feel the past speaking to her.  Feel it tugging at her back and running its fingers down her spine.  The best thing she could do, the only thing, was fight back.

Natasha stepped out of the shower and dried herself off.  she threw on a Yankees T-shirt, that had probably belonged to Clint at some point, and some old sweatpants before heading back out to her living room.  Once there, she took the photograph out of her pack trying to force herself to study the picture objectively.  There in black and white was a wedding picture of herself and a young man she didn’t recognize. 

The man’s face was serious, even as he looked down at her.  Natasha’s own expression was one of adoration, the image of a woman undeniably in love.  Nothing about his features brought forth any sense of familiarity.  Her memory of this event had been so effectively erased that, to Natasha, it was like staring at a picture of two strangers.  Had this been a mission or had she found love at some point in her past?

The words that Madam B had drummed into her since childhood rang through her head. _“Love is for children.  Love makes you weak.  It kills you.”_

She tried to call up the memory that the picture should have invoked.  But like the many other times she’d tried since leaving Panama all she got for her effort was mind numbing torture.  Waves of pain crashed through her brain, flickers of flame burned her eyeballs, then everything started to go black.  Natasha staggered against the living room wall, almost convinced that if she reached up she’d feel an axe sticking out of the top of her head.

She swallowed bile and tried to keep her stomach from heaving.   The pain told her that the event represented in the photograph was something the Red Room had wanted buried.  Never to be resurrected again.  Natasha drew in several ragged breaths, trying to bring the pain back under control.  She knew from experience that if she pushed too hard she could put herself into a nearly catatonic state. 

_“get it together,”_ she ordered herself.  _“Get it together and keep it together.  You’re okay…You’re always okay.”_

She stared out the windows of the living room blankly.  Breathing slowly, controlling her heart rate.  Disassociating herself from the implications of the picture.   For Natasha, learning she’d been compromised, that someone had something on her, was the ultimate nightmare.  The worst part for her, someone who had spent her entire life being trained for every situation, was knowing that there was nothing she could do.   Nothing, but grit her teeth and try to figure out exactly how bad the nightmare was really going to be.

Madam B and the others running the Red Room had played with Natasha’s mind so many times, stuffing false memories on top of real ones, that some of her memories were lost to her.  Sometimes those memories broke through, this was not going to be one of those times.  This memory would forever be shrouded in mystery and veils of pain.  

Natasha shook her head, she couldn’t imagine Madam B or anyone from the Red Room allowing her to marry for love.  Even, if the man in question was wearing a Russian military uniform.  But if it had been a mission, why bury the memory of it?  What could have been so important about this young Russian Officer that the Red Room would have needed to hide it even from Natasha herself?   

She didn’t have any answers.  Her mind had been messed with too many times.   It was like always living in constant twilight, stuck between day and night.   Had she been in love with the man or was her face a lie, a cover?  _“I don't get to choose what’s true.  I only get to choose what to do about it.”_  Natasha said, bitterly to herself.   _“I’m a product of my past, but I don't have to be a prisoner of it_.”  

Her hand gripped the picture a little tighter.  If she couldn’t remember, then she would investigate it.  Treat it like any other piece of intel she wanted.   She needed to keep the picture in perspective.  The important thing was to ensure HYDRA couldn’t use this against her somehow.  She felt like a baton getting passed along in a relay race, completely devoid of any control over her destiny.

Natasha determined to keep the emotions the picture invoked in her shut down.  Run it like an intel operation.  It wasn’t always easy when she was investigating something from her past, but often proved imperative to her keeping her sanity.  When she was running an official operation, the mission was over when Fury said it was.  Documents were locked away to a basement vault, and she walked away.  When she was investigating events from her own life, it was harder to turn the page.  Even if she looked at the picture a hundred times, it might still hold a secret.

She tossed the picture onto the table with the chessboard.  She would get nothing from continuing to stare at it tonight and she had other matters to take care of.  Starting with the man currently outside her house. 

Natasha walked closer to the living-room windows, putting her palms together flatly, she laid her head on them, indicating to Barnes with the gesture that she was going to bed.  It wasn’t a complete lie.  She was going to lie down for a couple of hours.  She just wasn’t going to sleep in case he decided, tonight was the night, to come out of hiding.

Natasha sauntered off into the kitchen and fixed herself a bowl of cereal.  Switching out the light as she walked back out into the living room.  Pausing just long enough to take a couple of bites of her raisin bran.  God she’d been hungry.  She continued to shut the lights off in the rest of the house and made her way to her bedroom.

  _“Your move, Barnes.”_  Natasha smirked.

James drew back blinking in surprise, as the last of the lights in the house went off.  He could feel himself becoming irrationally angry with Romanoff.  He’d thought she was slightly reckless before, now he wondered if she wasn’t simply insane. 

_“Doesn’t she have any God Damn idea how dangerous I can be?  How dangerous HYDRA is?”_ James spat out.  His dark brows furrowed in suspicion as he clenched and unclenched his fists. _“Was the damn fool woman honestly going to bed with a potential threat sitting right outside her window?”_  

He’d seen which direction she had taken when she’d walked down her hallway.  James quickly headed around the side of the house to try to figure out what her game was.  No way could she possibly be stupid enough to simply go to bed.  She had to be up to something.  Once James reached the room he knew she was in, he stole as close to the window as he thought would be safe. 

The sky provided just enough moonlight for him to see her inside the bedroom.  She was lying down on the bed, facing him, her eyes closed peacefully.  The sight of her like that struck James with all the force of a punch to the gut.  His breath locked in his lungs as he stared at Natasha.  Beautiful didn’t even begin to describe the way she looked.  The moon highlighted her porcelain skin, showcasing how flawless her face was. 

He bit back a groan.  James wanted to run to her, to haul her against him, and plunder her lips until the world faded away.  Instead, he remained where he was, realizing that he was screwed six ways to Sunday.  The sensation Irritated him, made grow even angrier with her.  He wasn’t there to ogle her, he was there to get her help. 

James let out air between clenched jaws, trying to level himself out.   With each breathe, more heat rose in puffs of white vapor.  His hands continuing their previous pattern of clenching and unclenching.   The woman was incredulous.  She’d actually gone to bed.  Romanoff couldn’t possibly be so naive as to believe a few locks and bulletproof glass would stop him if he had wanted to get inside and attack her.  James had half a mind to just crash through her bedroom window to teach her how wrong she’d been.

He glanced back at her sleeping face.  Recalling how she’d looked earlier, standing alone in her living room, staring at the piece of paper in her hand.   The distress on her face had made it seem as if pain were a room she had entered and the door had been locked behind her.  After a few minutes, her face had shifted into a blank mask, giving no indication of how she was feeling or what she was thinking.  But she’d continued to stare at the paper for another fifteen minutes.  Barely moving except to breathe.

The sight of her like that had caused another rush of guilt, at what he was about to involve her in, to flow through him.  Part of James had wanted to storm in there and yank the paper away from her.  Burn it.   Make it disappear so she would never have to look like that again.  As he looked at her now, resting so peacefully, he knew he wouldn’t disturb her tonight.

James hid in the woods, letting the dark surround him as he became one with nature.  It was his time to sort through what his next step should be.  He’d find somewhere to hunker down and keep watch.  James’s orders had been to kill her.  Just because he wouldn’t be carrying them out, didn’t mean HYDRA wouldn’t send someone else.

The thought that HYDRA wanted her dead burrowed into his heart as a cloud passed over the moon and darkness fell.  It coiled in his guts as James wedged himself among the roots of a tree and fell asleep.  The exhaustion from not sleeping for the last week finally overtaking him.

Natasha stood over Barnes, peering at him through her lashes, watching him fight the nightmare that had gripped him.  Knowing what she was about to do to him, left a bad taste in her mouth.  But the cold hard fact was that HYDRA had Zemo, and she couldn’t afford to allow HYDRA to get a hold of Barnes too.  They’d turn him back into their obedient Winter Soldier and use him as a weapon again.  Any chance for some semblance of a normal life would disappear for him if that happened. 

She laid a thin piece of paper down on his gear and disappeared into the night.   Her next mission couldn’t wait for her to determine what Barnes wanted from her and she sure as hell was not taking him with her.  There were times, however, and this felt like one of them, when even being right felt wrong.

The next morning James lurched awake with the sense that something wasn’t right.  The fear that HYDRA had gotten to Romanoff woke with him and clung to his back, riding on his shoulders as he stood, hungry and still exhausted from his nightmares.  As he became more alert, the certainty that something had taken place last night while he’d slept rose.  He reached down to grab his rifle and saw a piece of paper tucked under the straps of his pack.  The writing on it elegant and feminine.  Anger surged through James as he read the letter Romanoff had left for him.

Dear Barnes/Winter Soldier or whatever you’re calling yourself these days.  (Bucky is not happening, not from me.),

 Had some business to take care of, didn’t want to wake you.  Back in a week, two tops.  Sorry, but not sorry to leave you hanging like this.  I don’t want or need an escort, shadow, stalker (by the way, stalking a woman in this century is considered creepy NOT endearing.) 

 You’re welcome to use the house while I’m gone.  Maybe take a shower, eat something.  I promise it’s not booby trapped (cross my heart).  I may want to get in touch, or you can contact Steve.  Meet him somewhere that is NOT my house.  Use the computer in the kitchen (I hope you know how to use one.)  While you’re making your decision about what to do, you should know HYDRA has Zemo.

 If you decide to stay, and let’s face it I didn’t leave you much choice (Again not sorry) and feel the need to rearrange the furniture, try not to destroy it.  I like my stuff.

Love,

Black Widow.

As James, crumbled Romanoff’s letter in his hand he wasn’t sure which emotion to latch on to.  Anger that she’d taken off without him.  Frustration that he’d lost her, he didn’t trust that she’d get back in touch with him.  Awe that she’d managed to get that close to him, even if he had been sleeping, without him noticing.  Humility that she’d outmaneuvered him again.  And fear.  The fear James decided was the worse.  Fear that HYDRA would get to her and she wouldn’t be able to protect herself from them.  Fear that without her, he’d never be able to stop HYDRA.

James looked through the trees toward the house, grinding his back teeth into powder.  Wondering if he could afford to trust Romanoff.  She was a master spy, that meant that lying would be second nature to her.  Her letter had said that HYDRA had Zemo.  If that was true, why hadn’t Ivan known the correct words to transform him back into the Winter Soldier?  Why had Ivan given him orders to go after her and not Steve or Stark?  He had the sinking feeling that something was going on in the world, something big, even sinister and no one would tell him what it was.  He would just be a pawn in everyone else’s plans.

He walked through the woods stopping at the edge of the lake, staring out across its placid gray water.  James tried to rationalize the best way to handle the situation he now found himself in.  Was it a trap?  Romanoff didn’t strike James as the kind of person to let someone else fight her battles.  She’d already proven in the past that she was more than willing to take him on in hand-to-hand combat.

James suspected that she either had no sense of fear whatsoever or she simply wasn’t afraid of him.  If this was a trap, she’d be the one to try to take him on.  She’d lose of course, that was if, she was still in the house waiting for him.  The first thing James needed to decide was whether Romanoff could be trusted.  

It might be a game to Romanoff, but James knew he had to be careful.  Hanging off a skyscraper, only a fool whipped out his knife and started sawing away at the rope.  It was amazing though how many risks Romanoff seemed willing to take.

  _“Christ!”_   She had gotten close enough to him while he’d slept to slip a note into his pack, a pack that had been right beside him.   If she’d wanted to, she could have put a bullet in his head, or slipped a knife between his ribs into his heart.  Instead, she’d invited him to use the house.  STAY PUT.  RIGHT.  James threw down the note Romanoff had left him.  Did she really think he was going to spend days just sitting on his ass till she got home?  And then what?  It wasn’t like she’d divulged a plan of action.

It also wasn’t the friendliest letter he’d ever received.  In fact, it bordered on downright sarcastic.  But in the world, James lived in anyone who wasn’t actively his enemy was a potential friend.  He couldn’t afford to hold a grudge just because Romanoff had outplayed him.  He had to be willing to turn to her for help, no matter how complicated their history was.

If he walked away now, he’d wake up each morning and go to bed each night with the nagging thoughts that he should have done something--anything.  And ultimately, he would emasculate himself by questioning the size of his balls for as long as he lived.  James shuddered at the thought.  He might be a little crazy, but he’d read enough Greek tragedies to understand that a life filled with that type of recrimination would eventually lead him to the psych ward.

_“No”_ he thought, _“I’d rather go down swinging.”_   Which meant he had to be willing to stay put and wait her out.  _“And hope like hell she doesn’t get herself killed in the meantime.”_ James grumbled.

A thousand meters away a cold, dead, blue eye peered through a rifle scope at the Winter Soldier.  The man’s hand twitching on the trigger.   _“Kill him…Kill him.”_   The voice inside the man’s head repeated. 

The redhead jerked his hand off the trigger.  That would be too easy, he wouldn’t let the Winter Soldier die such a simple death.  He owed the Soldier so much more pain than a single bullet would cause.  No, he would show the Winter Soldier who he really was.  He was Fear.  And Fear sits and smiles and is predatory, immobile and silent and serene; an observer who conserves his energy and is content to wait.  vigilant, lurking in the shadows, playing with its prey.

_“There is something delightfully intimate about the relationship between predator and prey.”_   The man thought to himself without any pretense of humanity within him.  He considered himself a member of a species that was the true predator of the world. 

Something moved in his hand.  He looked at the closed fist, then opened it just a fraction, a bug curled in his cold palm.  He picked it up by a wing and it tried to fly away.  Grabbing both the bugs wings, one in each hand, he watched the legs and antennae frantically scrambling, trying to escape.  He was fascinated by the struggle.  So much movement but it wasn’t going anywhere.  Slowly he pulled the wings from the body of the bug.  The dying bug fell to the ground, its body jumping and squirming.

He stared, fascinated and detached at the same time, until what remained of the bug stopped moving.  It took several minutes.  Peering closely, he realized it wasn’t dead.  He pushed it with his finger; it jumped once, twice, then stopped.  A smile formed on the man’s face as he refocused his attention on killing the Winter soldier.

When he killed the Winter Soldier it would be slow, intimate.  Unlike the bug.  Unlike the last one he’d had time to play with, Valeria.  It hadn’t taken her that long to die.  In fact, it had been anticlimactic.  After two days of bringing her to the brink of death and back, trying to figure out what made her scream and what didn’t, her death had been boring.  She had died too quickly and he had been left unsatisfied.   He would need to think of something else for the Winter Soldier.  Something that would last a long time.

Inside James warily wandered around Romanoff’s small living room, observing everything.  A chessboard with a newly started game sat on the table by the window.  He closed the curtains.   A wide array of books sat on the shelves across the room.  He snorted when he saw the mysteries, he’d read Romanoff’s dossier. The whodunnits didn’t seem her style.  He randomly selected a few books, not for show, she’d read them. 

He headed down the hallway and continued searching the house for traps or anything that would give him a read on Romanoff.  So far, the only thing he’d learned was that like any good operative, stashing weapons was second nature for her.  Spies hid guns like squirrels hid acorns. There were pistols, rifles, ammunition, and knives in every room in the house.  They’d also been stashed all around the property.

But weapons weren’t what James was currently looking for.  Not that they wouldn’t come in handy.  You never knew when you'd need some firepower, or where you'd be when you needed it.

After searching her bedroom and turning up empty of any clue about where she had gone, James headed into the room across the hall from hers.  Another bedroom.  He spotted a change of clothing lying folded at the foot of the bed.  He showered, dressed and prowled around the house some more. 

He brushed the living-room curtain aside, scowling.  On the other side of the glass sunlight shone down on the peaceful lake surrounded by small boulders and trees.  His square jaw tightened and the skin around his blue eyes pulled into fine lines.  He hadn't even spoken to Romanoff and he felt like the stalker she had called him.   Staring out the window, waiting once more...waiting for what?  To catch a glimpse of her?  Or to better prepare myself for the inevitable meeting?


	7. Knight on the Rim

James’ brain was on fire again.  He did his damnedest to stop from being sent to his private hell, but as always, he was dragged kicking and screaming back into the raging inferno.  He stared into the bathroom mirror unseeing as violent memories strobed before him, flashes of joy blackened by past deeds and the present. Reality teased at the base of his skull.  

He knew what was happening to him, he just didn’t know why.  There were days his head just didn't work. He’d try so hard to focus but it was like trying to run through water. his brain fogged up and thoughts went nowhere at all.  Sometimes he thought it was natures anesthesia, anything to numb the pain, to wipe out the horrors.

Then there were days like today, times of clarity, sudden moments when he could see every detail and feel every feeling.   During these times, he would relive the life-threatening experiences he’d suffered, every death he’d caused, reacting in mind and body as if the events were still occurring.  The memories didn’t simply hurt. Memories also exhausted him, sapped his soul, thinned his spirit. 

James gripped the sink, drawing in huge gulps of air, as waves of nausea hit him. The beat of his heart increased and cold sweat broke out across his forehead.  The swirling memories coalesced into a single event.  A fight.  A brutal fight between James and another man.  James couldn’t make out the man’s face.   But he was angry, James realized.  He was violently, deadly angry with the other man.  James wanted the unknown man to die.

_James went low.  His opponent trying to sidestep him, but James looped his arm around the other man’s leg.  James hooked on to the man’s knee and pulled it tightly to his chest.  He stayed low and kept driving with his legs, trying to tip the other man over.  His opponent hopped on his left leg and started delivering punches to James’ back.  The first few were misplaced and lacked power._

_As James’ opponent began to go down.  He changed his tactic and slammed James on the head with a closed fist punch.  James slowed for a split second but didn’t lose his grip.  His opponent went down and flared his arms and legs out so he couldn’t be flipped.  James scrambled over the man and shot his right arm under his neck and placed his bionic arm across the back of his head.  The sleeper hold would knock the man unconscious soon, but James planned on snapping his neck first._

_The other man got ahold of a couple of James’ fingers and twisted with everything he had while turning in to him.  He used his strength to reverse the hold James had on him.  James allowed the man to initiate the move, once on his back James wrapped his legs around the man’s waist and clamped down with a vicious scissor lock._

_The man only made things worse by trying to pull himself up and away.  Allowing James to clamp down even tighter, waiting for the man to empty his lungs to draw in a breath.  Which would let James squeeze even tighter, until the man would be in need of oxygen, writhing in pain and dealing with several broken ribs._

_The man brought his right fist smashing down.  The blow hit James square in the face. His head bounced off the ground and blood began to pour from his nose.  James never let go of his hold waiting to hear the sound of ribs popping so he could use them to puncture the man’s lungs._

_Karpov and several HYDRA soldiers arrived before James could kill the man, forcibly pulling them apart.  When Karpov ordered James to stop, he did.  Confusion clouding his mind._

Standing in the bathroom James could feel the blood on his hands from the fight.  Both his and the other man’s.  He could taste blood in his mouth.  The man had been strong, nearly as strong as James, himself.  _“Another Winter Soldier?”_ The guy hadn’t been a run of the mill soldier.  He’d had serious moves and James knew an elite fighter when he came up against one.

Though James still couldn’t remember the man’s face, he could hear his voice.  He could hear the man speaking to him as if he were standing in the bathroom with him.  _“She’s mine.”_ The man had spit at him.What the hell was the man talking about?  Who was she? James couldn’t imagine a time when he’d cared enough about a woman to kill another man.  As the Winter Soldier, he hadn’t given a damn about anyone, even himself.  James’ confusion dimmed a little, one answer clear, if he ever encountered the other man again.  This could end.  Would end.  In one of two ways.  One of them would die.

James slumped down onto the cold tile floor.  He could feel reality and the flashback wheeling around him. Changing shape so that he nearly had to vomit, or hold his arms to his head and scream against it all.  It hurt, remembering.  Hurt because there was so much he'd done, so much he'd yet to do.  In so many different ways, he now realized, not remembering had been a blessing.  A brief respite in the twisted bloody mess that his life had become.  But at least he knew who he was.

But even while reality regained a hold of James and the memory, body sensations, and feelings were shattered, they were not forgotten. He knew that they’d intrude again in unexpected ways: through panic attacks and insomnia, through nightmares. When they’d first started, he’d hoped it was a process to wipe out the bad memories, to stop him from reliving them.  Now he knew it wasn’t so simple.

He’d been careful over the last six days, since Romanoff had ditched him, to avoid anything that might trigger one of these attacks.   There really wasn’t much inside the house to trigger him.  No ceiling fans, to remind him of helicopters.  No strange smells, to bring up the memories of war.  He’d spent the time looking for clues regarding where she’d gone or who she was after.  But aside from some clothes, the chessboard, and weapons, she kept nothing else personal in the house.

Nothing except the photograph he’d found earlier that morning.  James slowly stood, his entire body shaking.  The reality of what had triggered him created a sinking feeling inside him.  Tucked into a kitchen cabinet had been a wedding picture of Romanoff and some Russian military officer.  She’d been incredibly young in the picture, and there was nothing in any of his briefings that had said she was still married.  Yet, the photograph had made his head explode. As if, someone had scooped out his brains and put a hand grenade in his skull.

James looked down at the sound of something cracking.  He’d gripped the sink so hard his bionic hand had caused the white porcelain to break.  He needed to pull himself together.  Stick to a routine that would ensure no more triggers.  He’d done it for years after his memories had first started coming back.  He could, would do it again.  He needed to take everything one day at a time.  Lie to himself. _“You’re doing just fine. You’re doing fine.”_

James shook his head, hard, to empty the thoughts from his mind.  _“Operation pull your shit together--Day Fucking One. Again.”_   He muttered, to his image in the mirror.

For a long time, James had felt like he was drowning.  Not the panicked, desperate death that most people would associate with that kind of end.  More a sense of waves lapping over him and of a cold endless darkness below.  The road ahead empty.  There’s been nothing he wanted.  Nothing worth fighting for. 

Now, though, there was a strange sensation of adrenaline filling him.  Soon, he would face HYDRA, the group he had actively been avoiding since his memories had returned.  There had never been any reason to court a confrontation, but now that it was inevitable he was starting to feel…what?  Excitement?  Fear? Those where inept words that had little meaning to him.  But he felt something.  Something to break up—or perhaps end—the existence he’d become trapped in.

He gargled a mouthful of some nasty-tasting mouthwash he’d found in the medicine cabinet. Then pushing away from the sink, he exited the bathroom to go find something to eat.  All he had to do was keep fighting.  He’d been fighting every single day of his life. Sometimes he thought all he had left was fight.  But it was better than the alternative he reminded himself.

James was in the kitchen heating up a slice of pie in the microwave, when the laptop began to trill the alert for an incoming call. His heart quickened the pace of its beating as he dried his hands on the dish towel that hung on the front of the oven door.  Romanoff.  Had to be.  Nobody else would contact him.  He grabbed a package of Oreo’s out of a cabinet, then clicked the green Accept button as soon as he sat down at her kitchen table.  It took just a moment for the video call to connect.

“ _Where the hell did you go Romanoff_?!”  James growled, in a rough don’t mess with me I’m deadly voice, once he could see Natasha.

Her long-red hair spilled over her shoulders shimmering like winter fire.  Her eyes were a little together, but man, were they green.  Both features highlighted to perfection by the bright-blue top she was wearing.  His gaze drank her in and he made no attempt to conceal that fact.  Not many women were as beautiful as Natasha Romanoff.  Something James was sure the spy was aware of and used to her advantage.

He scanned what he could see of the room she was in.  Behind her was an old brown couch, that had seen better days, pushed up against a shabby white wall.  No paintings, no windows.  It looked like any one of a thousand different apartments in any one of a thousand different cities.  Nothing to tell him where she was at.  Natasha smirked at him, her eyes alight with amusement, knowing exactly what he was trying to do.

“ _I told you, I had business to take care of.  I’m assuming you got my letter, since you Are in my house_.” Natasha replied calmly as she studied him.  His dark hair was disheveled, his blue eyes a little bloodshot and his clothes looked like they’d been rained on.  In short.  He looked like hell, but damn, if hell didn’t look good on him.

“ _Without me?! You went after HYDRA without me!_ ” James knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help but be angry that she’d taken off alone to fight his fight.  The recent flashback didn’t help his temper.

“ _And I would bring you along, why?  Cause we’re what, friends, enemies, frenemies_?”  Natasha shot back theatrically.

“ _What the hell is a frenemy_?” James blurted out, Natasha made him sorry he did.

 “ _Friendly enemies.  You know, you shoot me in the stomach, I shoot you in the goggles. Okay, technically I was trying to put it through your eye.  Sooo, you shoot me in the shoulder and I try to put a RPG up your ass. Then you tried to choke the shit out of me.  Ringing any bells Soldier.”_ She said it slowly, like he was a dim child _“But hey, it’s all good.  It’s not as if we were **Trying** to kill each other, just playing around.  Frenemies ya know_.”  She ended her speech by blowing a large, pink bubble with her gum and popping it with a loud smack.

Natasha sat back in her chair and watched Barnes not missing a thing.  She saw the flash of guilt in his eyes, watched the muscle in his jaw tense attempting to control his temper.  She was trying to push his buttons.  She needed to know which version of Barnes he was, what he wanted, what he already knew.  She needed to know if he was a threat or a minor inconvenience.  

James frowned, running a hand through his hair.  She might as well of hit him in the stomach with a two by four.  He could remember shooting her in the shoulder, he could remember his hand wrapped around her throat.  But when he tried to recall shooting her in the stomach he drew a blank.  He didn’t think she was lying to him, there would be no point.  Just one more thing to add to the never-ending list of things he was guilty of doing.

_“Sorry.”_ He replied tersely, even though the apology was sincere.

Natasha shrugged and waved her hand.  _“Water, bridge, whatever.  It’s fine. I lived.”_   She would reserve the right to hold a grudge later if it turned out she was wrong about him. 

Her glib response caused James’ anger to rise back up to the surface.  _“Where the fuck are you Romanoff?!”_

_“Somewhere you’re not. Why were you following me? You come to finish me off, Sweetheart?”_   Her green eyes were direct, penetrating, as she returned his stare.  _“Because, I do believe in killing the messenger.  Know why?  It sends a message.”_

_“Damn, you got me,”_ he bit back, sarcastically. _“You thwarted my evil plan.”_  James rubbed a circle on his forehead with his fingers.  His headache was still sitting over his right eye as if it had been nailed there.  Talking to Romanoff wasn’t helping.  He took a deep breath and tried again, his voice calmer. _“Bottom line is that you may not like it, but were on the same side here.”_  

_“Forgive me, but I'm a little skeptical about that.”_ Natasha countered, keeping her voice even, almost conversational, as she lifted her eyebrows _. “Why were you following me? How did you even find me?”_

For a moment, James considered telling her _“I found out about you from my last nightmare.”_   But it was truth time.  She’d effectively ditched him and he’d have no hope of finding her again if she didn’t want it to happen.  _“HYDRA told me where to find you.  They tried to order me to kill you.”_  

_“Kill the messenger it is, then.”_  

Seeing the steely look on her face, added with her tone.  James quickly continued.  _“I’m not going to do it.  They don’t’ know the right code words to make me do anything.   I…I need your help.”_

Natasha considered the new piece of information.  HYDRA had Zemo but not the trigger words for turning Barnes back into the Winter Soldier.  How was that possible?  And what exactly did Barnes want her help with?   _“Why should I help you? Who are you running from?”_

James laughed, dark and sinister, _“Not running. Hunting.  I’m going to take down the people in charge of HYDRA.  Dismantle it.  And I need your help.”_

_“I work alone.”_   Natasha told him flatly.  _“Stay out of my way and you won’t get hurt.  Call Steve if you need help.”_

The last thing she wanted was another partner or to be part of a team.  Been there. Done that.  Got the T-shirt and still got sunburned.  She had no reason to give Barnes what he wanted.  With Barnes came Rodgers, and with Rodgers would come Sam and Wanda.  Probably even Clint.  Thanks, but no thanks.

She was carefully put together, tough to the core, and, she liked to think, loyal to a fault.  And the fact was, she felt incredibly loyal to Clint.  After all, he’d gotten her out of a bad situation and she was grateful to him for that.  He’d changed the course of her life.  But she could admit to herself that deep down she was a little pissy about everything that had happened over the Accords and the man currently sitting in her kitchen.

_“No!  I don’t want Steve anywhere near this mess.”_ James said in a tone that didn’t invite argument. 

Okay, that was a surprise.  Natasha wasn’t completely sure she should believe him.  He must have sensed her thoughts because he kept talking.

_“I won’t risk Steve’s life.”_

_“Gotcha.”_ Natasha mused, silently.  _“You won’t risk Steve’s but your looking to risk mine.”_   Not that it bothered her all that much.  She was already doing that on her own, but she didn’t need someone tagging along that could potentially make her job harder.  That put Barnes squarely in the watch your back with this guy column.

Natasha put her arms on the table and leaned in close to the screen.  Barnes really didn’t want Steve involved, interesting.  Steve wouldn’t like that.  But that was between the two of them, not her. _“Lucky for you I’m working alone and I intend to keep it that way.  So, Steve’s not at risk here.”_

_“Do you honestly think you can take HYDRA down on your own?  They’re going to keep sending people after you until they get what they want.  That’s you dead, in case you missed it.”_   James stood, knocking his chair back violently and started pacing in front of the computer.   

  _“That’s my problem to resolve, not yours.  Thank you very much.”_

_“How many do you think you can take on by yourself?  Ten, twenty, fifty?  Sooner or later, you’re going to need help Romanoff._   _If it goes pear-shaped, you’re going to need backup.”_   James bit back, undeterred. _“Christ, the woman is stubborn.”_  

Natasha could feel her own anger bubbling to the surface.   Her expression was perfectly polite, but her green eyes flashed. _“Your opinion is very important to me.  Please remain on the line until it goes to voice mail.”_ She had to remind myself to stay calm, and sarcasm was the best way to do that.  She drew in a deep breath, letting her features go blank.  She didn’t want him to see what she was thinking.  _“Let’s say you’re right.  Why in the hell would I trust you to have my back? If I get into trouble, I can always call Stark.”_

No way in hell was she going to call Tony.  Not unless she was on her way to drawing her last breath.  Even that scenario was iffy.  But Barnes didn’t need to know that.  As far as Natasha was concerned, the fewer people involved in her personal life the better.  Her latest fight with HYDRA was extremely personal.  There was still the problem that Zemo was with HYDRA.  But that only made her want to keep an eye on Barnes, not work with him. 

Natasha sat back in her chair and studied every micro expression that crossed his face. She looked at him long and hard, as if the answer to her question would have to already be written on his face for her to believe it.  Again, she could see the guilt and frustration tighten his features, his jaw clenching.  But it was his eyes that drew her attention.  They were soulful, in some way; they seemed to say things that she knew he'd probably never say out loud.   

James ran a hand through his hair, reigned in his temper, and once again sat down at the kitchen table.  Romanoff held all the cards in the situation they now found themselves in, and they both knew it.  He scrambled to find the right words.  The words that would get the master spy to let him in on her operation. 

He felt as though he were going through some kind of personal D-day.  That his next words would either win him the current battle of wills with Romanoff or lose the war to her entirely.  There were many explanations James could give her for why he had chosen the path he was on, but telling her the truth seemed his only way in.  James let out a long breath.  He wasn’t sure why he’d thought he could get around this.  Wishful thinking wasn’t normally one of his failings.

_“Why can’t I be the one to strike first, to hit so early and with such fury that my enemies cower before they can ever think of turning on me?”_  James asked darkly, he sounded so bitter.  But he continued.  Baring his soul to someone who was only little more than a complete stranger.  _“What angers me is the loss of control. That at any moment someone could come to me, use the right words, and I no longer have free will. I will do anything that person requests.  I hate them for that._   _Nothing else is as bad as knowing that I am always out of control; knowing that I am still a laboratory experiment. A puppet whose strings are hidden from everyone but my handlers, and I don't know how else to break free.”_

James nailed her with a stare, letting Natasha see the bleakness in his eyes.  She knew with one glance, one look, one simple instant, what she was going to do.   It was his eyes dark-rimmed, haunted, and sad.  Most of all, they were familiar. The fact that they were separated by a computer screen changed nothing at all.  Natasha had spent a lifetime with those same eyes-scared, lost, confused-staring back at her from her own mirror.  She would have known them anywhere.

_“More than most, I know the pain of surviving.”_   Natasha told him, quietly, sympathetically.  Offering him a brief and rare glimpse into her world.  She blanked her expression again before continuing, only willing to share so much of herself.  _“You’re in…Sort of.  But we’ll take this…partnership, one step at a time.  If you bring Steve in or anyone else, I walk.   I’ll leave your asses behind flapping in the wind.  Understand?”_

James nodded his head curtly in agreement.  He was determined enough to never walk away from a fight, but he also knew when he’d been beaten.   He would get nothing else from Romanoff right then.  She clearly didn’t trust him, and he could hardly blame her for that.  So far, he hadn’t done much to earn that trust.  The spy had her own secrets and she was going to keep them to herself. 

Natasha held up a surveillance photo of an older gentleman, his dark hair streaked with white.  His hard, blue eyes offset by a deep and ugly scar that ran down his face.  He was formally dressed in a Russian military uniform, with a General’s rank on his shoulders.  

_“Do you recognize him? “_ Natasha asked.  She waited, patiently chewing her gum, while James tried to concentrate on the photo she was showing him.

_“No, yes, I don’t know. I think he’s familiar, but I’m not sure.”_ James replied, frustrated that he couldn’t just answer her simple question.  _“I might have known him when he was younger.”_

_“Okay, tell me this.  How does the picture make you feel?”_   Natasha asked, knowing that pushing for a concrete answer would only make it harder on Barnes to remember.  It might even cause him an immense amount of pain if he tried too hard.

_“Angry, it fucking makes me angry.”_

_“Thanks, that’s all the confirmation I need.”_

James pounded his fist on the kitchen table, causing the laptop to jump. _“I didn’t tell you I knew him, just that I was angry.”_ He snapped at her.

_“Trust that Barnes, I do.  Even if you can’t consciously remember, trust what it makes you feel.  You have instincts, good ones, use them.  They’ll keep you alive.”_   Natasha replied gently. 

_“And what exactly are you planning to do with this information?”_   James didn’t like the feeling that was settling in the pit of his stomach.  Spies were known for taking balls-to-the-wall risks. Risks that to others would seem crazy if not downright stupid.  Romanoff was a legend in the black ops world for it.

_“I came here to chew bubble gum and kick ass_.” She dead panned.  Tossing her gum into a nearby trash can her face and tone turning serious. _“And now I’m all out of bubble gum.”_   Natasha rolled her eyes at the blank look on Barnes face at her last statement.  _“The problem with these nearly immortal types,”_ she thought. _“Is they couldn’t spot a pop culture reference even if a tiny green alien popped up beside them and told them to use the force.”_

All the muscles in James’ body tightened.  His eyes narrowed on Natasha’s face.  _“Where are you?  I can help.”_

_“Baby steps, Barnes.  Baby steps.  This is my party.”_

James inclined his head slightly, both an acknowledgment of her point and a command to continue.  _“Fine.”_ He growled, through gritted teeth.  But still he itched to be there with Romanoff.  Didn’t like having her so far out of his reach.  He had to trust she would come back.

_“Give me seventy-two hours.  If I’m not back by then, or you don’t hear from me, use the computer to contact Nick Fury.  Tell Him…”_ She paused as she debated silently with herself.  _“Tell him he’s finally won a game of chess.  He’ll know what it means.”_   She finished, recalling she’d once told Fury the only way he would ever beat her at chess was if she were dead.

_“Romanoff!”_ James began. 

But Natasha cut off the call before he could finish.  Staring at the now blank screen she whispered, _“You’ll be safer where you are Barnes.”_    

She pulled up her secure e-mail and sent a quick message to Fury.  Letting Nick know she was going dark and he wouldn’t be able to reach her.  She also wanted to give him a heads-up that she’d located Barnes.  She chuckled as she sent the message off.  Knowing the tone, and lack of details, would irritate Nick.

_Dear Dad, I won't be home this weekend because HYDRA wants to kill me, and I have to get to them first.  Also, I met a new boy.  I think you’ll like him. Love, Nat_

Natasha stood, looked at her reflection in the computer screen, and questioned her sanity.  No shaking or sweaty palms.  She wasn’t nervous.  It was just a cold, calculated assessment of her abilities and her odds of success.  She went over her plan once more and concluded she would likely be tortured, and possibly killed.  Although the events in Panama made the chances of death less likely.  But even in the face of such outcomes Natasha couldn’t convince herself to walk away.  Which brought her right smack dab back to the part about her mental health.

She drew a fortifying breath, walking over to the window.  Natasha gently pulled back the tattered curtain and gazed down at the street.  The two soldiers were still there, stationed across the street keeping watch.  Natasha had dropped a few hints around the Damascus neighborhood about what she was up to, and they had shown up barely an hour after she’d spoken to her fourth local.

Natasha shook her head.  It was time.  There was only one option open to her, and there was no sense in delaying what had to be done.  She wanted some answers and this was the way to get them.  She gathered her sunglasses, and a map and exited the small apartment.  She jogged the three flights of stairs down into the lobby.  The manager looked nervous as hell, which Natasha took as a sign that someone had talked to him. _“Perfect.”_

She continued out the door, into the fiery daylight, and held the map over her head to block the sun while she looked up and down the street.  Peering out from behind the sunglasses Natasha pretended not to notice the pair that had been waiting for her to come out.  With her face buried in the map, she turned to the right and started heading down the street.   Within half a block, Natasha’s nervous system began sending her brain alarms, each more insistent than the last.  It took every ounce of training to override millions of years of survival instincts. 

Up ahead an unfamiliar black car was parked across the street.  Natasha ignored the man behind the wheel and turned down a narrow alley.  Just fifty steps ahead a brutal-looking man was loitering in front of a shop.  His gigantic frame resting against the side of the building while he took a long pull off his cigar.  There was something vaguely familiar about him, right down to the dusty tan pants and blue shirt with the sweat-stained armpits.

The street was otherwise empty.  The survivors of the bloody civil war could sense trouble, and had wisely decided to stay indoors until the afternoons circus was over.  The footfalls from behind were echoing like someone beating on a drum.  Natasha could hear the pace of her pursuers quicken.  A car engine revved, no doubt the black BMW she’d noticed earlier.  With every step, Natasha could feel them closing in from behind.  Her brain ran through scenarios with increasing rapidity, looking to ensure this went how she planned.

They were close now, Natasha could feel them.  The big fellow up ahead threw his cigar to the ground and pushed himself away from the wall with more agility than Natasha would have expected.  She filed that away.  The man narrowed his eyes and pulled a leather club from his pocket.  Natasha dropped the map in feigned surprise and turned to run.  The two men were precisely where she’d expected them to be, guns drawn, one pointed at Natasha’s head, the other at her chest.

The sedan skidded to a halt just to her right, the trunk and passenger door popping open.  Natasha knew what was next and smiled.  They were taking her right where she wanted to be.  She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw as the baton cracked her across the back of her head.  Natasha stumbled and fell into the arms of the two men with guns, letting her body go limp, and unconsciousness overtake her.


	8. Queen's Gambit Accepted

Natasha sat in the chair and tried not to yawn.  She estimated it had been at least three hours since the last time her captors had been in the room.  She was bored.  Because she knew what they were doing, and she’d just as soon get on with it.  For what Natasha decided was the thousandth-time, sirens blared deafeningly in the small room.  In the Red Room, she’d been trained to deal with interrogation.  She’d learned to let the disorientation, the sleep deprivation, and the brutal isolation just wash over her.  So, while the techniques worked on most people, they were useless on her.

Natasha’s internal clock told her she’d been in the chair for at least two days.  She shifted as much as she could, trying to find a more comfortable position.  She’d been secured to the chair with her arms and legs bound with steel bands.  The last time her captures had left her they’d placed a disgusting burlap sack over her head.  Natasha took in shallow breaths through her mouth and focused her mind.  Throwing up in the bag would only make things extremely unpleasant for her.

The mind, Natasha knew, could only take so much before it simply opened up and let the secrets out.  They said everyone eventually broke, she wasn’t just anyone.  She was still very much in control of her mind.  Under the smelly hood, she smiled at the challenge ahead of her.   Natasha went through the long, nasty list of the things they could do to her.  She already had a headache-she didn't want to add 'get tortured' to today's to-do list.  She recommitted herself to fighting them every step of the way.   

Once the siren stopped blaring in her ears, Natasha heard noises on the other side of the door.  Footsteps, some talking, but nothing she could make out, then the door opened.  Natasha tried to count the different steps.  Her best guess was three men.  They spread out around her.  Someone approached from behind her, grabbed the burlap bag yanking it off her head.  Natasha blinked several times and looked around the room.  A fluorescent lamp hung from the ceiling, a metal table sat across the room with a chair pushed up against it.

Natasha looked at the three men she could see.  Two were familiar.  She’d been toying with them since she’d arrived.  _“Gentlemen, there must be some misunderstanding here,”_ Natasha announced in an easy tone, _“I thought we’d already established you two aren’t good enough to get anything from me.”_

The two men in front of Natasha exchanged a smile.   The older man, the one Natasha had never seen before, spoke.  _“Natalia Romanova, I have been looking forward to this for a long time.”_

_“So have I.”_

_“So, you know who I am?”_ Dr. Faustus asked with a raised eyebrow.

_“Yep.  You’re the HYDRA idiot in charge here.”_

_“And you, Natalia, are now a SHIELD assassin.”_

Natasha looked as if she had to think about that for a second, then she nodded and said.  _“That would be correct.  I kill people like you for a living.”_

Dr. Faustus nodded.  This was going to be very interesting.  _“It really is a shame that you chose to betray your family.  We had such plans for you in the Red Room.”_

Natasha refused to let the man see how much his words had surprised and affected her.  _“Yeah…It’s a damn shame.  Although I’ve tried to make up for it over the years by killing as many of you assholes as I can.”_  Had he been part of the Red Room?  Did she know this man?   Something in the far recesses of Natasha’s mind said that she should.  That she should be very afraid of him and what he was capable of doing to her.

Dr. Faustus gave her an affable smile.  _“It looks as if your killing days have come to an end.”_

 _“Possibly”_ Natasha surveyed the dank room.  _“Things don’t look good, but I’m always up for a challenge.”_

_“This is a challenge you will not win, and you know that.”_

_“I’m afraid I don’t.  You see I’m not okay in the head, and I pretty much hate you more than I love life, so this is going to be a tough one.”_   Natasha replied far more calmly than she was feeling.  A queasy feeling took root in the pit of her stomach as she began to suspect that her intelligence on this operation may have been wrong.   But she was already in, and there was not much she could do but keep her eyes open and figure out how bad the situation was.

 _“Really, little Natalia, your false bravery is so American.  You were raised better than that.”_   Dr. Faustus said, eyeing her pityingly.

Natasha winced at the words little Natalia as if it pained her to hear them.  _“No false bravery here.  I’m going to fuck with you until I take my last breath.  I’m going to feed you so much disinformation, you won’t know what to believe.  You’ll be killing your own people before this is all over.  You won’t sleep at night, and when you do you’ll be dreaming of me.  It’s going to be a blast.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yes.”_   Natasha gave him a curt nod to confirm her conviction.  _“The two of us are going to take a little trip into the depths of my warped mind, and trust me, you won’t make it out unscathed.”_

Dr. Faustus laughed, pleased.  Natalia had always been a confident, headstrong girl.  It was part of what made her so interesting.  He’d molded her from an empty shell of a child. Yet, she’d broken free from her programming long before the Winter Soldier had.  How was that possible?  Of all the girls he’d worked with she had been the one he’d spent the most time with.  His most difficult challenge. 

But if it hadn’t been for the extra attention he’d given her she would not have survived the program past her ninth birthday.  She’d been a very willful little girl, with a stronger than normal sense of who she was.  He’d relished breaking her, turning her into who he’d wanted her to be.  Honing her into being the Red Room’s greatest asset and his greatest success. 

His father, who had helped start the program, would have been proud of what he’d accomplished with Natalia.   He also would have been disappointed with the fact that Natalia had escaped the control of her handlers.  But that ended here.  Starting now.  Faustus pulled the chair away from the table, and sat across from her before replying.   _“Fine.  I think we should begin our journey.  Don’t you?”_

_“The sooner the better.”_

Dr. Faustus’ face transformed, Natasha felt his malignant force suddenly, and she sat up in apprehension.  His voice was like a cold slimy serpent. He leaned toward Natasha and she felt like she was being surrounded by a python, smothered and choked.  _“No one will be able to protect you. No one can protect you now. You’re even less than you imagine. I’ve seen generations of girls like you.  It was my pleasure to take everything away from them._   _I’ve guided entire generations of girls through tunnels we built that led nowhere. And when they arrived at nothing, I smiled._   _You’re one of them.”_

Natasha smiled.  _“I made it out of your tunnel.”_

 _“Did you?”_ Dr. Faustus asked in the same voice.  _“I think it’s time to pull back the curtain of reality on your illusions of freedom.”_

_“Good luck with that.”_

_“I know your secrets. I know what you hide from yourself._   _You can’t escape me._   _I hold your heart in the palm of my hand._   _If I like, I can squeeze it. If I like, I can crush it. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”_

Natasha furrowed her brow and paused before responding.  _“Knowing about my past is no great accomplishment.  I personally released all that information when we kicked HYDRA out of SHIELD.”_

 _“So, you did,”_ Dr. Faustus looked at Natasha steadily.  _“But when interrogating a trained operative like you, the most useful information isn't professional, it's personal. I simply need to get into their head, understand what makes them tick. Of course,”_ Dr. Faustus paused, giving Natasha a meaningful look.  _“that's easier with some people than others.  Tell me Natalia, did you enjoy my gift?”_

Natasha looked at him blankly, having no idea what he was referring to. 

_“The picture Natalia.  The one capturing the happy occasion of your wedding.”_

Natasha sucked air into her lungs through gritted teeth.  But before she could reply Dr. Faustus continued.

“ _Tell me,_ _how many nights did you stay up trying to decipher the missing pieces of your past?  And everyone one of them is in here.”_ Dr. Faustus said, tapping his index finger to the side of his forehead. _“I’m offering you answers to questions that have haunted you for years.  All at the incredibly low price of your compliance, your return back to where you belong, and the location of the Winter Soldier.”_

 _"Well._   _Thanks for my part in the compliment._   _Naturally I'd love to be watched and controlled, but I think I may be washing my hair that day.  It’s a crying shame HYDRA lost their toy.  But if you’re looking for the Winter soldier, I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person.   As for the picture and any other memories I may not have.”_ Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. _“Those memories are wounds that have already scabbed over.  I have no use for them.”_

Natasha knew she just needed to hold on, and try not to go insane.  In the end, though, it wasn’t so much the conversation as the uncertainty that was getting to her: not knowing what the future held or if she’d have a future at all.  She would, however, die before giving Barnes’ location up to the man sitting in front of her.  Barnes had already suffered enough courtesy of HYDRA, she wouldn’t be responsible for putting him through that again.  She pulled her thoughts up short, unwilling to let her mind travel down that dark, insidious path.  Barnes was safe for the moment.

Dr. Faustus tutted at her, like a teacher disappointed his student didn’t understand her lesson.  _“I’m afraid my dear that you do have use for your memories.   Your very survival and that of the Winter Soldier, depends upon you remembering.  On both of you remembering.”_

Natasha tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling, confused.  It was like talking to the Mad Hatter about tea.  What the hell did Barnes have to do with her past?  Looking back down at the man she replied.   _“If you’re referring to the incident in Odessa, I remember him shooting me with perfect clarity.”_

_“Oh, this goes much deeper than Odessa, or even Washington, my dear.”_

_“Sorry then, I can’t help you.”_

_“But I can help you, Natalia.  The only walls that exist are those that have been placed in your mind.  And whatever obstacles you conceive, exist only because you have forgotten what you have already remembered.”_

_“Thank you.  But I don’t believe I want to remember.”_  Natasha said, stubbornly.

Again Dr. Faustus laughed, pleased with his encounter with her.  _“I have missed our little chats, Natalia.  They are always so entertaining.  I look forward to more in the future, when you are back where you belong.  I must confess that I have always been curious as to how you broke through your programming.”_

_“I’m untamable.”_

_“That is simply not true.  I have tamed you before.  I will do it again.”_   Dr. Faustus reassured her, confidently.

Natasha’s eyes turned cold and distant.  _“Not before I kill you, or I die.  I will never go back to being part of the Red Room.”_

 _“No.  You will be part of something much greater.”_ Dr. Faustus informed her pompously.

 _“HYDRA?”_  Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes.  _“Sorry but they’re just not that impressive.”_

The doctor’s lips pursed in agitation. _“You know so little of what HYDRA is capable of.  Of what we have already achieved.”_

  _“Why don’t you enlighten me then.  You’ve already given me so much useful information.   Why stop now.”_

The doctor rose from his chair and waved a beckoning hand at one of the two men that had been standing silently by, listening to their exchange.  _“I’m afraid our time is up.  And as for the information I have provided you… You will only remember what I want you to of your brief visit here. No. These are not the memories I wish you to have.”_ Dr. Faustus leaned in close, whispering in Natasha’s ear.  _“And make no mistake, I am the one in control of what you remember.”_

The younger man stepped forward and held a syringe out to the doctor.  The doctor accepted the syringe, checked it, then grabbed Natasha’s arm.

 _“What’s that?”_   Natasha asked, warily.

 _“Nothing for you to worry about.  It’s the same serum that we have already given to the Winter Soldier.  It will help both of you remember your past.  Yours I’m afraid has something a little extra in it.”_  The Dr. Paused before continuing.  _“I’m sorry, but when you wake up, you will be in for an extremely rough night.”_

Natasha tried to pull away, but knew the gesture was futile.  She watched in fear as the doctor stuck the needle in her arm.  Memories of the many times the Red Room had drugged her rushed through her.  Almost immediately Natasha felt her head swim and her grasp on reality let go.  Dr. Faustus whispered urgently in Natasha’s ear until she lost consciousness.  Once she drifted off, a tall young man with red hair walked into the room.  He immediately began removing Natasha’s restraints.

Dr. Faustus studied the young man before speaking to him. _“You know what to do and where to take her.  Be sure you get there before she awakens.”_

The redhead nodded curtly in understanding.  He lifted Natasha easily in his muscled arms, securing her against his broad chest, and walked out the door.

 Dr. Faustus watched them leave, smiling to himself.   While the Winter Soldier was important, Natalia fascinated him.  She was the only surviving Black Widow and he’d helped create her.  She may have broken away from his control completely.  But he would correct that.  This time, there would be no escape for her.  There was nothing more intoxicating than creating something from nothing. Creating something from yourself.

Natasha regained consciousness to a voice that sounded like ice cracking on a winter lake.  _“Just remember,”_ the voice told her. _“If you run from me, I will pursue.”_ The voice deep and hard, not a sound so much as a feeling. It was a storm and wind and leaves twisting in the night. It was roots sucking deep at the Earth. But there was something wrong with the voice, something diseased at its core.  Natasha felt a hard shove, then suddenly she was falling.

Her feet slide out from beneath her as she began rolling down a hillside, the world dark and spinning.  Scrambling to grab a hold of anything solid, she tumbled over rocks, and twigs, and pine cones that scraped and cut her bare arms.  Natasha couldn’t help the cry that escaped her as she wildly grasped for grass or roots or shrubbery, something that would slow her plummet to the bottom of the hill.  Her heart thudding, her mind spinning, her fingers bleeding as she clawed into the dry earth.

Natasha’s wrist banged into a rock.  _“Damn!”_ she cried, barreling downward, bouncing and spinning until suddenly she stopped, her body landing at the bottom of a chasm, dirt and pine cones flying as she skidded over a bank and into a shallow creek.  Icy water slide beneath her.  _“Oooh.”_   The sound coming from her own parched throat.  She tried to lift her head, to get her bearings, but the world spun, her vision swimming her off balance. 

_“Don’t stop! Get up.  It’s still out there.”_

Dizzy, Natasha attempted to focus.  Her hair was wet. Red curls moving with the slow current.  Pain wracked her body, and she coughed and snorted dirt.  _“On your feet, Natasha!”_  Her mind was screaming at her, but she was woozy, her entire body aching.  She felt bruises forming as she gazed upward to the stars far away.  A thin veil of clouds floated across the moon.  The vision of the sky a surreal balm over her pain.

 _“For the love of God, you can’t just lie here!  Move!  It’s coming!”_   Natasha’s mind again screaming at her, yelling at her to get her battered body moving again.  Water splashed against her legs and torso.  With what Natasha considered a monumental effort, she lifted her head, pain searing through her brain.  Was she seriously hurt?  And where was the beast, that horrid monster with the bad breath, and fiery eyes? 

Natasha squinted into the surrounding trees as she moved her arms and legs.  She saw nothing.  No huge, towering monster.  Heard not a whisper over the gurgle of the creek.  Struggling, she rolled over, found a branch to help push herself upright.  When she felt the limb give a little, she gripped harder.  Her world spinning once again.  Natasha threw herself to her feet.  Running, stumbling along the creek.  She had to get out of there.  She had to get somewhere safe.

From the corner of her eye, Natasha caught movement, a shadow darting.  Then the rustle of dry leaves.  Her skin prickled.  The wind?  Without another thought she took off, willing herself through the trees, hearing the monster behind her.  _“What the hell is it?”_   She wasn’t going to slow down to find out.  As she crested a ridge, the trees parted and she saw light from a house ahead of her.  Breathing hard, she hazarded a quick glance over her shoulder and saw nothing. 

 _“This can’t be real.”_ But she wasn’t listening to the rational part of her brain, not when her heart was pounding in her chest.  All of her instincts screaming at her to run, get to the house, put as much distance as she could between her and the…the monster.  She sprinted, slipping and twisting through the trees, as branches and cobwebs clawed at her.  She stumbled, her shoe caught beneath an exposed root. 

Her arms flew out, as her foot became untangled and Natasha hit the ground.  Hard.  She bounced on the unforgiving ground, all the wind in her lungs coming out in a rush.  _“Get up!_   _You don’t have time for this.  Get to your feet Natasha.”_   Hot pain flashed through her shoulder.  Too bad.  She couldn’t stop moving.  She had to get to the house.  _“Move, damn it!”_   She muttered, forcing herself to her feet.  _“Oh, shit, I hurt.”_   But she gritted her teeth and moved as quickly as she could, batting away branches, listening hard.

James moved quietly through the living room, his eyes scanning the books on the shelves.  His eyes stopped at a title he recognized: The Count of Monte Cristo.  A good book.  A very good book.  James placed his finger on the spine, slipped the book out, then paused to listen.  The house was silent.

…Or was it?

With an easy motion, he tucked the book under his arm and turned, his eyes taking in the brightly lit living room.  It was cold—he hadn’t bothered with a fire—and most of the lights in the house were off.   It was nine o’clock in the evening, and a bitter winter night had settled in, the wind sweeping through the trees.  James continued to listen.  His ears could now picking up the sounds of the house, the deep muffled moan of the wind, the faint hum of the heater.  And yet he thought he’d heard something.  Something quiet, almost undetectable.  Something from outside. 

Still moving casually James strolled over to the entryway and slide open a small panel, exposing a computer security pad and LCD.  It was green down the line, the alarms all set, doors and windows secure, motion detectors quiet.  He moved easily, smoothly, but inside he felt anything but easy.  James had an internal radar, honed by years as the Winter Soldier, and at the moment that radar was going off.

Why, he didn’t know.  There was not one thing he could but his finger on.  Everything seemed secure.  It was instinct.  James never ignored his instincts.  He moved to the hallway and scanned the doors up and down the hall.  All closed.  All was well.

He walked across the living room, sat down in a chair strategically positioned to allow him a view of all entry points.  He opened the book and pretended to read.   As he did so his senses remained on high alert.  Ten minutes passed without one thing to arouse his suspicions.  James decided it must have been a false alarm.  He closed the book, yawned and walked over to the windows. 

James began to feel a little foolish.  His isolation, his unaccustomed role as house guest, and the waiting for Romanoff to return, had put him on edge.  Nobody was there.  Suddenly James felt a presence.  He took a moment to get a feel for the tactical situation.  He then picked up his Glock, racked a round into the chamber, and flicked the laser sights on. 

James whirled around, as Romanoff came crashing through the front door.  The Glock in his hand outstretched in front of him, ready to pull the trigger.  He took her in just as he began to relax his stance.  Her breathing was ragged, her face wildly panicked.   Her arms were covered in blood and cuts and bruises.  She looked like she’d been running from the hounds of hell themselves, and had lost the footrace to them.

 _“How many?”_ James asked, as he moved to kick the door shut, expecting a battalion of HYDRA soldiers to try to follow her inside.  When he didn’t get a response from her he put more steel into his voice.  _“Romanoff!  How many are there?”_ Still, he got nothing coherent from her.  Her gaze met his, her bloodshot green eyes filled with confusion and terror.

James stiffened, inhaling abruptly as every primal instinct in him surged to life, and he automatically went into combat mode.  He moved away from her, searching out the windows for any sign of the people that had attacked her.  He saw nothing.   Everything was the same as it had been for the last several days, peaceful, quiet.  The woods empty of anything but trees.

Natasha backed away from the person…thing standing in front of her.  _“This isn’t real.  This can’t be real.”_    Her words came faintly at first, but they came again and again.

 _“Romanoff!  What the hell is going on?”_ James demanded, Keeping a wary eye on her.  She still looked horrified, trapped in some nightmare that she couldn’t escape from. 

Natasha’s mind was unable to comprehend what she was seeing.  One instant it looked as though the Winter Soldier was standing in front of her, dressed casually in blue jeans and a T-shirt.  The next, it was the monster that had been chasing her, it’s eyes glowing a fiery red.  She could see his lips moving, but she couldn’t tell if he…it was speaking to her, or growling at her.

 _“Stupid, Natasha!  It’s a trap.”_  Her mind screamed at her.

She crouched low into a fighting stance.  Warily watching the figure slowly approach her.  Pain ripped through her shoulder.  She ignored it.  Every one of her senses attuned to whatever the hell was in the house with her.  She wasn’t going down without a fight.  Natasha shook her head violently.  Something was wrong.  Why couldn’t she think clearly enough to figure it out.

 _“This isn’t real.  This can’t be real.”_ Natasha said aloud, trying to center her world.

James laid his glock down and approached Romanoff cautiously as he watched her battle whatever demons were inside her head.  There was something in her green eyes, something that was...pure horror.  James felt as if she’d slapped him, but as he continued to watch her he realized, she wasn’t afraid of what he would do, but of what she might. 

As he drew near her he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her.  _“There’s no one here but you and me, Romanoff.”_  James told her, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

A change washed through Natasha at the contact.  Her fear vanishing.  The change was like a reenlistment in an army she never willingly joined. In a very real way, she was a career soldier who had never been paid, never allowed to retire and never given a chance to lead a life free from the fear of what she might do without conscious awareness. 

 _“This isn’t right.”_   Whispered a small rational part of her brain.  But it wasn’t loud enough to stop her.  Natasha erupted into punches, blows, and kicks.

James reacted instantly, decades of training taking over.  Romanoff was trying to punch every bit of James that she could reach.  She let out a low growl and a heavy-booted foot nearly missed James’ head.   He knocked Romanoff away from him and swung his foot back, readying to kick.  

 _“What the fuck, Romanoff?!”_ He snarled at her.

Natasha flew at him.  Her legs swung around and she latched onto his back.  Her fingers reaching around his head to push on his eyes.

James roared in pain.  He reeled backward slamming her into a wall.  His hands scrabbling to get a hold of Romanoff.  In one swift move, he flung her over his shoulder and took them both down to the ground.  Twisting around as they went, him falling onto his back with her on top of him, to cushion her from the blow.   His arms pinning hers to her side, locking them in place with a grip strong enough to bend steel.

Natasha shoved his bionic arm with all her strength, but it wouldn’t budge. His waist rippled with sculpted muscles. His chest and shoulders bulged and spoke of great strength.  _“Let go of me.”_ She hissed.

_“If I let you go are you going to hit me again?”_

_“What do you think?”_ Natasha replied in a calm, hostile, icy tone.   Trying to break free from his grasp.

 _“Then I’m not going to let you go.”_ James softly, quickly replied, catching her off guard with his tenderness.  Relieved that she seemed more coherent now, if still openly hostile. 

James’ softly spoken words seemed to deflate Natasha, all the fight leaving her.  A memory flickered inside her, and whatever it was made her incoherent with fear, made uncertainty scurry into the darkest places of her consciousness. _“I can’t….  I can’t make the voice stop.  I can’t find me.”_   Closing her eyes, Natasha slumped against him, as if the words she had spoken had used up all her energy.  He felt warm and comforting and unsettling and bewildering.  She drew in huge gulps of air, trying desperately to clear her head.

At Natasha’s words, James sat up and moved his body so that his was completely entwined around her, his lips at her ear.  _“It’s okay….shhhh.... I’m here.”_ His words were soft, placating, spoken as if to a child or a wayward animal _“Romanoff, I know you’re in there, because I was when they did this to me.”_  She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she was processing anything he said.  She just stared straight ahead, face ashen.

James rocked her and the movement surprised him, made him feel almost human.  _"You're not alone,"_ He whispered into her hair as he cradled her in his arms. _"You're not alone.”_ He held her and rocked her until her breathing returned to normal, and she fell into a deep sleep.  James was amazed at the feeling invoked in him simply by having this woman in his arms.  It was the sort of soul deep emotion that made him want to hold her tighter with one hand, and draw a gun against the world with the other. 

Seeing the state that Romanoff was in, caused the last thread holding back James’ true nature to snap in half.  He was the alpha male barring his fangs and issuing a growl of fury.  James’ blue eyes were alight with determination.  He wasn’t called the Winter Soldier because he sat on the sidelines.  He’d earned the name because of the vicious, savage way he fought.  HYDRA would pay for what they’d done to her.

He’d give no quarter as he sniffed out his enemies.  He would be merciless to those involved in this, ruthless in bringing them to justice.  He would be an avenging angel for not just her, but the two Wakandan scientists. James looked at Natasha, now asleep in his arms.  he made himself and her a vow.  _“I’m going to kill the bastards once and for all. Here. Now.”_

Anyone foolish enough to get in his way would die—painfully.

Lying on the wood floor next to them was a business card with the name Dr. Johann Fennhoff printed on it.

Outside the sound of laughter echoed through the trees into the dark.  _“It was fun terrifying Natalia,”_ the redheaded man thought.  He’d have to do it again.  Soon.


	9. Isolated Pawns

**New York- Late February**

The road Steve Rodgers was driving on was becoming dangerously hypnotic.  He’d been on it for over an hour now.  His eyes felt as if they were burning—Always a bad sign—And his eyelids kept threatening to shut on him.  He hadn’t slept at all, in the days since he’d learned Bucky had disappeared from Wakanda.  King T’Challa had assured him that everything that could be done to locate Bucky was already being taken care of.  But this had done nothing to alleviate the worry that Steve was now feeling.

He couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.  Not knowing that HYDRA had managed to infiltrate the Wakandan lab and someone had whisked Bucky away.  His need to do something, anything, was how he found himself driving his elderly neighbor Mrs.  Cavanaugh’s silver Nissan Sentra.  In danger of driving the car into a ditch or off the side of the inclined road he was traveling on.  Heading to the small town of Fairview just outside of New York City. 

Annie Duggan lived in Fairview.  She had promised Steve she would use her contacts as a reporter to try to help him locate Bucky.  Steve hadn’t wanted to discuss any important details with her over her unsecure phone line.  He stifled a yawn before it managed to make him momentarily shut his eyes.  He took a deep breath, trying hard to rouse himself.  A better way to go would have been to drink some of the pitch-black, strong coffee riding next to him in the vehicle’s cup holder. 

But unless he pulled over—something, considering the narrowness of the road he was on, that was not advisable--He was not about to risk reaching for the full container.  For that to happen, the split second that his eyes might be off the road could just be enough to send him careening into an accident.  Steve wasn’t reckless enough to think himself above any and all accidents.  Better safe than sorry had been an unspoken mantra in his family, courtesy of his very wise, late mother.  All things considered, he chose to obey the mantra this morning.

The coffee could wait.  He couldn’t help Bucky if he were hospitalized.  Instead, Steve did his best to snap himself into alert wakefulness by biting down hard on the inside of his bottom lip.  He stopped just short of drawing blood. 

_“Just where is this road I’m supposed to turn onto anyway?”_ He wondered, grudgingly.  Risking a glance at his GPS.  _“Shouldn’t I have been there by now?”_

Taking a turn down an obscure road whose sign he had almost missed.  Steve breathed a sigh of relief.  Apparently, his journey was almost at an end.   A sign was posted up ahead on a short, wrought-iron fence.  The sign proclaimed Duggan Manor.  Steve snorted.  DumDum had always told him he’d own a fine English manor house one day.

He pulled the car up to the gate.  There was another sign, an older, weather-beaten one, that told whatever visitors that approached to just drive on in.  With the engine running as the car stood before the fence, Steve paused to drain half the coffee in the container he’d brought.  Only then did he do as the sign requested.

As Steve pulled up to the old, blue house he spotted Annie standing on the porch waiting for him.  She looked nice in her slouchy yellow pullover and crisp white slacks.  Her strawberry-blond hair pulled back into a ponytail.  He parked the Nissan and quickly exited the car.

_“It’s good to see you again Captain.”_   Annie greeted him warmly as he walked up the steps to her front porch. Then winced at her words.  Things were anything but good right now.   The information she had to give the Captain was only going to upset him more than he already obviously was. 

_“Call me Steve.  We’re practically family remember.”_ He replied, trying to keep the mood light.  He didn’t want to drag the smiling woman down into the darkness of his world any more than he had to.

_“Steve”_ Annie repeated.  _“Come inside, we can talk in the kitchen.”_  

She gave Steve a quick once-over, noticing how haggard and tired he looked.  Worry was etched heavily across his handsome features.  Leading Steve through the creaky front door she took him down the hallway to the heart of her family home.  The kitchen in the big house was always one of her favorite places.  Airy and sunny. No modern cabinets or anything like that. Just a room full of windows, set into wise, worn walls.

_“Have a seat.”_ Annie said, her hand indicating the old oak dining-room table.  _“Would you like something to drink?”_

_“Coffee, if you have any.”_  Steve replied hopefully, sinking into a chair.

_“Sorry, all I have is tea.  Would you like some?”_  At Steve’s nod of agreement, she filled the old teakettle with water and placed it on the stove.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she eyed Steve with concern.  His blue T-shirt had a coffee stain on it, his eyes were bloodshot and fogged over with anxiety.  The evidence of his hurt paining her as well.  What she had to tell him about Sergeant Barnes would do nothing to easy his pain.

_“Were you able to get any information on Bucky or HYDRA?”_  Steve asked, watching Annie pour boiling water over the tea bags in their cups.  Hoping there would be enough caffeine in the tea to keep him going.  The longer time went by without any word on Bucky, the worse his imagination about what HYDRA was doing to his best friend got.  Imagination, of course, could open any door, turn the key and let terror walk right in. 

_“So far all I have are rumors.”_ Annie cautioned, as she pulled the tea bags out of the mugs, dropping them into the sink by their strings, stirring a little sugar into hers.  She carried the steaming mugs of dark liquid to the table, setting Steve’s down in front of him, before taking a seat.  _“I haven’t been able to get any information that would indicate where the Sergeant is.”_  

_“I’ll take rumors at this point.”_ Steve told her.

No one else had come up with anything.  Not T’Challa, or he and Sam, not even Sharon could figure out where Bucky had been taken after leaving Wakanda.  All he knew was Bucky hadn’t been taken without a fight, and that people had died.  After that, nothing.  Steve was trying hard to hold on to the faint hope Bucky had escaped HYDRA.  But the longer Steve went without any word from his best friend the dimmer that hope got.

Annie nodded.  _“Nobody knows for sure where Sergeant Barnes is, or who he’s with.”_  She paused, considering if there was any way she could finish without causing Steve any more pain. _“But there are rumors that Agent Romanoff had something to do with Bucky’s disappearance.”_   Seeing the storm clouds of dismay pass through Steve’s eyes she hastily continued.  _“They’re just rumors.  Nothing concrete.  As far as I know, no one has any real evidence to support them.”_   She insisted, soothingly. 

Steve paused, his tea mug lifted halfway to his mouth.  His body went rigidly still as he struggled against the shocking ramifications of the news; He came face to face with the possibility of his worst fear.  Had Nat switched sides?  Had he trusted her all long only now to discover she’d been working against them all this time?  Or had joining HYDRA been the only way for Nat to protect herself after the fight in Germany.  Every answer came back no.  But allowing him and Bucky to escape Germany had shot Natasha to the top of Ross’s most wanted list. 

_“No.  That’s a lie.  Nat’s like family to me, she wouldn’t be involved in this.  She would never help HYDRA.”_ Steve growled out, pushing the chair violently away from the table as he stood.  Feeling lonelier than he had in years.  First there had been the rumors that she’d freed Zemo from the Raft, now this.  But try as he might, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that Nat was somehow a part of what was happening. 

_“I’m not lying.  I’m just telling you what other reporters are being told by their sources.”_   Annie said softly, placing her mug on the table to stare at him.  Hurt by the accusation.

Steve blew out a breath and paced across the room. _“I didn’t say that.”_  He apologized, he spun away from her and looked at the wall. _“I’m just upset.  Just like Bucky, Nat’s family, and I feel like I’m losing them both.”_   Dread crept over him like an icy chill, numbing his brain. In this frozen state, his mind offered him only one thought. _“I can’t fail Bucky this time.”_

Annie felt a sharp tug of emotion as she always did when she was unexpectedly reminded of the loss of her own family.  _“I understand.”_   She breathed out, quietly, sadly.  Standing she walked over to Steve.  Losing the people you loved most, was like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the ache.

Steve turned his head and looked down at her.  Her hazel eyes showed the kind of gentle concern his mother’s used to have. She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, and he was soothed by it.  Like him, she knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. You didn't get past something like that, you got through it.

Annie left her hand there and spoke with a soft voice _“We’ll find Bucky.  We’ll find them both and figure out what’s really going on.”_  

Steve felt her words calming him more by the way they were said than the actual words.  It felt as if he were wrapped in a blanket of her caring.

Annie guided Steve back to his seat and placed his tea into his hands.  _“Do you know anyone that might be able to contact Agent Romanoff?  Someone she might turn to if she needed help?  Maybe she’s trying to help Sergeant Barnes, not hurt him.”_

Steve smiled a little, but the smile didn't spread to his eyes, which looked less tense and worried.  Steve ran with the idea Nat was trying to help like a child with a new toy.  _“Clint Barton.  If anyone can figure out what Nat’s up to its him.”_  

He looked at Annie probingly.  She was all about simplicity, making things better, helping those around her to relax. Perhaps that’s why she glowed, it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her features. When she smiled, you couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside. _“She’s exactly the kind of woman Bucky needs in his life.”_ Steve thought.  To Annie he simply said, _“Thank you for your help.”_

Annie rose from her chair, taking the now empty mugs to place in the sink.  _“Why don’t you call Agent Barton while I reach out to my contacts and see if they’ve heard anything new.”_  Excited to be working on something more important than another story about a garden gnome gone missing.  Dr. Fennhoff had told Annie that one day someone would see she was capable of more than simply writing puff pieces for the local paper.  She was grateful to Steve for recognizing that and coming to her for help.

Since returning back to her family home, Annie’s days more or less had returned to their familiar patterns.  Grudgingly rollout of bed when the alarm sounded, make tea, check her blog, start the day.  She spent the mornings at the local newspaper office, following up on emails and voicemails, checking the wire service, running a few lead stories past her boss, who never assigned her any of them.

So, in spite of the recent turmoil in her life, Annie’s daily routine hummed along with a certain repetitiveness that was starting to grate on Annie.  Helping Steve and writing her story about Bucky where the only things putting any excitement into her life.

Steve nodded in agreement and reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone to call Clint.

**Columbia**

Clint stood in a now shut down HYDRA facility, hands clenched tightly at his sides.  He glanced around with a practiced eye.  A table in the corner, several beds around the room, none of them comfortable.  drab walls all the way around painted a gray color that wasn’t very different from their original hue.  Fluorescent lights blared down from overhead, unflattering at best, downright painful after a few hours.

 And on one wall, covering half the surface, was a message, he could only assume had been painted in blood.   _“You’re going to die the same way they did Romanoff.”_  

Who the hell had died here?  The place had already been cleared of every bit of evidence that might have been found.  Nothing was left, except the burn pit outside, to give him any knowledge or insight as to what had happened, or how it was tied to Nat.  Clint could only describe the dread he was feeling as a slowly approaching train.  Like any good nightmare, it didn't matter where you ran because it kept coming just the same.

_“What the hell are you caught in the middle of Nat?”_   Clint asked the empty room. 

Columbia had been the only solid lead he’d been able to get on Natasha.  But it had been over a month since she’d been reported being seen there.  Now he wondered if his best friend was still among the living.  His heart and his stomach, his whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching at the thought something may have happened to her.

He had reason to be frustrated.  Obviously, whatever had been going on hadn’t been reported via normal channels.  He’d checked report after report, everything he’d been able to get.  Nothing.  Now she was gone, others were dead and the mystery of what had happened here shrouded it all.  The only evidence to give a hint where to look next was the obvious signs that a professional crew had been there.   The question was had it been Fury’s men.

He needed to find Nat.  He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t contacted him.  Why she hadn’t stayed in touch with his kids.  But now he had so many other questions that those got pushed to the back burner.   After everything they’d been through together over the years, it hurt to think Nat had simply shut the door on it all, and walked away.

Clint knew he shouldn’t be hurt given what had happened in Germany, and knowing Nat’s penchant for wanting to handle her problems on her own, but he couldn’t help it.  She should have known she could trust him. That she wasn’t alone anymore.  He’d thought that he and Laura had shown Nat what a family was really meant to be.  People willing to stand with you, protect you, put their lives on the line for you. 

That family had nothing to do with DNA and everything to do with love and trust.  That no matter what happened between them, she would have a family that loved her.

He shoved those thoughts aside.  What he needed to do now was focus.  Clint sorted through important information for a living, made decisions on where a response team should go, what they should do, based on his reading of a situation.  Knowing what questions to ask to get the information he needed was his job.  And lives depended on his ability to do it well.  Damned if he knew where to start now.

He stared at the wall hard, then ran his hand up and down the entire wall. _“It’s not what I see,”_ Clint thought, _“but what I don’t see.”_   There were no bullet holes.  At least not anymore.  He bent down and studied the wall closer.  Whoever this was, they were absolute professionals.  They’d done a full clean up job.  Right down to digging out the bullets and patching and repainting the walls. 

Clint was so lost in his thoughts that the thrill of his cell phone made him nearly jump out of his skin.  He glanced down to see who was calling.  It wasn’t going to be one of his better days.  He could feel it in his bones.  He hit the receive button.  _“Cap.”_   Clint said by way of greeting. 

Steve didn’t waste time with the usual pleasantries.  _“Have you heard anything from Nat lately?”_

Clint could hear the worry in the Captain’s voice and it set him on edge. _“No.  Not a damn thing.  Why?”_

_“HYDRA woke Bucky up from cyro. No one knows where Bucky’s at.”_

Clint glanced back at the wall with the message written for Nat. A reminder of his purpose there.    _“What do you mean they woke him up.  Are you telling me Barnes is back to being the Winter Soldier?”_  His voice had a hard edge to it.  If HYDRA sent the Winter Soldier after Nat, she wouldn’t stand a chance on her own. 

Steve breathed heavily across the phone connection.  _“I …I don’t know.  All I know is that people died in Wakanda and Bucky is gone.  Everything else is just rumors.”_

Clint latched on to the last part of Steve’s comment.  He knew not to trust information they got for free. But rumors could also be useful to a covert operative like himself _.  “What rumors? And why are you asking me about Nat?”_   Clint asked, pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the answer to his last question.

_“That..that Nat was there.  She was in Wakanda when Bucky disappeared.”_   Steve said cautiously.  He knew how much Nat meant to Clint, and the other man was not going to like what Steve was telling him one bit.

Clint was stunned.  Again, he read the message on the wall, written in what Clint was sure was blood.  His mind worked through all the possible scenarios that would put Natasha in the vicinity of Wakanda, much less Barnes and came up blank.  HYDRA was threatening to Kill Nat, it made no sense for her to be anywhere near the man that could do just that. Nothing about it made sense. 

He’d spent a career working in intelligence, and the worst feeling in the world was knowing nothing, being caught up in something he couldn't begin to understand, because: _“It's not the enemy you **see** that gets you, it's the one you **don't**.”_

Clint made a disgusted snort in the back of his throat.  _“Cap, I very much doubt that Nat has gone near the guy that’s already shot her twice.  I also don’t think she had anything to do with setting Zemo free.  Are you getting this information from the same reporter that told you about Zemo?”_  

_“Yes, Annie’s the one digging up the information.”_ Steve confirmed. _“_ _We know a redhead was involved in what happened on the Raft.”_   He insisted. 

Clint gave his cell phone a black look, then held it back up to his ear. _“Nat’s not the only redhead on the planet.”_  Clint shot back, stubbornly, as his eye started to twitch.  What the hell is wrong with Steve?  Clint wondered.  Why was the Cap suddenly willing to pin everything that had happened on Natasha?  Either the gates of hell had opened, or Steve had lost his mind. _“Whatever is going on, it’s more likely HYRDA has sent your buddy after Natasha, not the other way around.”_

_“Bucky would never hurt her.”_   Steve replied defensively.  But the thought that Bucky might not be Bucky anymore wormed its way into his brain.

_“Look Cap”_ Clint started not unsympathetically. _“I know firsthand what a person will do when someone else has control of their mind.”_   Clint began walking around the dusty facility, while he continued talking on the phone.  Looking for anything that might give him a clue about where to look next for Nat.  “ _Do you honestly think HYDRA is willing to let Barnes run around without having control of him and his actions?”_  

_“No.”_ Steve replied quietly.  _“It’s just that I can’t, I can’t…”_ He became overwhelmed with the fear that something terrible would happen to his friends because he hadn’t been vigilant enough.  That he wouldn’t get to Bucky in time to save him. 

Clint cutting Steve off, cleared his throat and said _“Look, I’m not trying to be an ass.  You’ve caught me off guard on multiple levels here.  But I need more answers than just rumors.”_  He needed to find Nat and do it quickly.

_“I know.”_ Steve sighed heavily.  _“It’s just that everything keeps circling back to Nat.”_  

_“The truth is a circle Cap, not a straight line.  Especially when it comes to Natasha.”_

_“Maybe.  But all these coincidences keep happening.  What if she didn’t have a choice?”_   Steve asked, echoing Annie’s words from earlier.

Clint pressed the heel of his hand to his eye socket, but it didn’t work.  His brain was still leaking out.  Slowly and painfully.  _“Have you met Nat?”_  He asked half seriously.   _“If someone doesn’t leave her an option, she makes one for herself.”_

_“You’re right.  I know you’re right.  Can you help me find Bucky?”_

_“I’d love to help ya out Cap.  But I need to find Natasha.  Let me tell you what I know.”_   Clint replied, the words were clipped, abrupt.  _“I’m standing in the middle of a HYDRA base.  My best guess is that it was still being used until recently.  Someone here left Nat a fan letter.”_

_“What kind of fan letter?”_   Steve asked, feeling more on edge than he had all week.

_“One that that says they’re going to kill her.”_ Clint replied with steel in his voice.  _“I’m sorry Steve, but I think it’s more likely HYDRA retrieved their Winter Soldier to make good on the threat.  I’m warning you, If Barnes hurts Nat, Stark won’t be the only one he needs to watch out for.”_   His words were so dangerous and threatening that the air grew colder with their iciness. 

Clint understood Steve’s need to protect his best friend.  But the Cap needed to understand that Natasha was his.  If it came down to it, Clint would kill Barnes to protect Natasha in a heartbeat.  While he continued to talk to Steve Clint examined the walls and floor in the room and found more evidence of the room having been repaired.   Everything pointed to Fury’s network of people covering Nat’s tracks.

Once again, Steve’s world started crumbling away beneath his feet.  He wondered how long he could keep going.  It seemed that every move he made one of his friends was bound to get hurt by it.  _“It won’t come to that.  I’ll make sure of it.”_   Then another thought struck Steve leaving him feeling uneasy _“Would Nat have gone to Tony for help?”_  

Clint mulled the question over in his mind then after some serious consideration he said.  _“Possibly, but doubtful.  It’s more likely that she’s working with Fury if anyone.  Nat likes to handle her problems alone.  She doesn’t like putting others at risk because of her issues.”_

More likely, Nat was out there taking the fight to HYDRA alone.  The woman was nothing if not obstinate.  But Clint kept that to himself, Steve had enough to worry about. 

_“If you hear anything…”_

Yet again, Clint cut Steve off.  _“I’ll contact you if I hear any news about Barnes.  But right now, my priority is finding Natasha.”_  

_“I understand. Do you think Tony might help find Natasha?”_

Clint snorted.  _“I think Stark would tell us both to go to hell.  And he’s probably already looking for Barnes.  He doesn’t need another excuse to kill him.”_

_“Probably.”_ Steve sighed, dejectedly.  Knowing that Tony would kill Bucky if he ever got the chance.  Steve wasn’t willing to take that risk.

_“Look I’ll call Fury and see if I can get anything out of him.  Meanwhile, I suggest you get your hands on Barnes’ journals.  See if Barnes wrote something down that might give you an idea where HYDRA would be keeping him.”_   It was the only option Clint could come up with.  He was more convinced than ever that Fury knew precisely what was going on with Nat. 

_“All right.”_ Steve replied, feeling a little less alone.  Clint’s suggestion was a good idea and Steve was angry with himself for not having already thought to do that.  _“Let me know if you find Nat.  Or if she needs help.”_

_“Will do.”_   Clint said, then hung up the phone.   He reread the message on the wall, angrily pushing the button to call Fury.

Once the call was connected, Clint didn’t wait for Fury to speak before beginning.  _“Where’s Natasha?  And don’t tell me you don’t know.  I want to know what in the hell is going on.”_

_“I thought you were retired.  Which puts you in the don’t need to know category.”_ Nick replied grumpily.  He’d been expecting this call for a while now and was surprised it had taken Clint so long.

_“I’m taking a vacation in Columbia and I hear Barnes is back with Hydra, so I’m pretty God damn sure I do need to know.”_ Clint shot back, angrily.  He’d had enough of being left out of the loop and he’d put an arrow through the next person who mentioned his retirement.  But Clint also knew it meant this mission was off limits to all but the top level of Fury’s network.  Something Clint was no longer a part of.

_“You’re slipping in your old age.  Columbia is yesterday’s news.”_  Nick informed him.

Clint took an arrow out of his quiver and idly started twirling it between his fingers.  Thinking.  Talking to Fury was like watching a complicated magic trick.  It was all about distraction.  While you paid attention to what he was willing to say, it was what he didn’t that was important.  Something had happened since Nat had been in Columbia. 

A large part of Nick wanted to read Barton in on everything that was happening.  But Nick knew if he did that Natasha would go off on her own.  She’d been very clear on not wanting anyone else involved.  There were things Nat wasn’t telling him, Nick was sure of it.  He needed to make sure she had backup if things got too bad.  If she disappeared, that would be impossible.  He debated how much to tell Clint.  If the man just happened to find Natasha, all the better. 

There was also the not so little problem that Nick currently had no idea where Romanoff was or what she was up to.  _“I’ll give you a brief overview, if that get your panties out of a bunch.”_

_“Brief overview my ass.  What is going on?!”_ Clint bit out as he craned his neck from side to side, easing the building tension.  Did Fury honestly expect him to sit on the sidelines while someone threatened Nat?

_“Do you want me to give you a clue?  Or should I relay the message Romanoff left in case you called looking for her.  The nice version would be stay out of it, by the way.”_

Clint got the message.  Nick wanted him to find Nat, but if Nat figured out Nick had sent him, there would be hell to pay all around. _“What’s the clue?”_   He asked resignedly.  Sometimes the two spies and their need for secrecy really frosted his ass.

_“First, Barnes is not with HYDRA and no I don’t know where he is.  Second, Romanoff is off tracking down Zemo.  last message I got from Natasha came from Damascus.  But that was a few days ago and it was to inform me she was going dark.  I have no idea where in the hell the woman went, or why.”_

Natasha deciding to go dark was nothing new, Clint was used to her doing that in the field.  It was irritating as hell when she did it, but not unexpected.  Still the news didn’t help the numbness that had stayed with him since seeing the message.  The tightness in his stomach, the ache in his heart, only increased knowing that Fury didn’t know where Nat was or, if she was still all right.

_“How do you know Barnes isn’t with HYDRA?”_   Clint asked, suspiciously. 

_“Sources.”_   Nick replied, shortly.  Romanoff either had Barnes stashed away somewhere or she knew where he was.  Either way, her not telling Nick meant she had her reasons for keeping the information to herself.   Nick trusted her enough to wait and see what those reasons were.  Romanoff was the one out in the field, he wouldn’t blindly second-guess her calls and put her at risk.

Clint would bet his farm that source was Natasha.  Obviously, Nick knew more than he was saying, but he wasn’t offering up any details.  Typical.  The old spymaster never revealed more than he wanted anyone to know.  Usually, Clint didn’t mind.  He was used to it by now.  But this threat felt different.  Clint’s gut was telling him that the shit was about to hit the fan in a big way. 

_“Syria.  Just great.  I hear Damascus is crappy this time of year.  Oh, wait.  Damascus is crappy anytime of the year.”_ Clint muttered.

_“It’s not my fault half the country wants your head on a spike, Barton.”_ Nick laughed.“ _Maybe, you should try making more friends. Fewer enemies.  Not accidentally blow up a museum.  Oh, and give Rodgers the same message from Nat I gave you.  It’s a blanket statement for one and all.”_

_“Of course, it was.”_ Clint said, dryly.

_“Try not to get yourself killed by either the Syrians or Romanoff.”_  Nick said before disconnecting the call.

Clint sent off a quick text message to Steve to let him know Barnes wasn’t being reprogrammed by HYDRA and no Fury didn’t know where Barnes was.  He didn’t mention anything about Natasha.  The irony that he wasn’t being any more forthcoming then Fury had been, wasn’t lost on him.   But Clint wasn’t sure that the Captain wouldn’t put protecting Barnes above Nat’s safety.   He wasn’t willing to take the gamble.

He made another quick round of the Hydra base, looking for anything that would give him a better idea of what was going on.  He was fairly certain Nat had been down here in Columbia when Zemo had been taken from the raft.  And now thanks to Fury, Clint knew Natasha was hunting Zemo down.  Finding nothing that would help him, Clint left the base and headed for Cartagena. 

As he drove, Clint made a mental list of the gear he would need in Damascus.  Most of it, particularly the “Scary” stuff as his daughter called it, had already been prepacked in two large backpacks. He’d get the rest when he got there.  Right now, he needed to catch the next available flight into Syria.  He’d call Laura before he boarded the plane and let her know Nat was still alive, but that something serious was going down and he’d be gone longer than he’d first thought.

As Clint entered the airport he thought about what he would do when he finally got his hands on Nat.  His thoughts weren’t pretty.  It was time for him to do a little cognitive recalibration of his own. 


	10. Castling It In

**Natasha's safe house.**

There was no sound, but Natasha felt a movement, a shifting of the air in her room, the warmth of another presence.   She kept her eyes closed, as she tried to remember what had happened to her.  How in the hell had she gotten back home?  Almost everything after the three men in the alley had taken her, was coming up blank.  She waited as fragmented memories of the night before floated through her mind. 

_“Open your eyes,”_ James demanded. When Natasha didn’t even move, he repeated the command with more steel in his voice.  _“Open your eyes, Romanoff.”_

He waited impatiently for her comply.   Wanting to know whether he should expect a repeat of the night before.  He watched her as she stirred.  Her hair was matted, dried mud stuck to her cheek, and her shirt and jeans were ripped, covered in mud and grass stains.

Natasha groaned. _“My head hurts.”_

_“That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.”_  James replied, his voice deep and gravelly.

It had taken all his self-control to leave her last night, and he hadn’t until after he’d reassured himself that she was fine.  Everything that had happened the night before between them, left him feeling on edge.  He was angry with her.  Being angry, and not trusting her, allowed him to be distant.  Safe.  Because Natasha Romanoff was trouble and danger and everything bad in one petite, sexy package.   

Natasha opened her eyes, a mix of anger and wary amusement easing into them.    Barnes stood at the foot of her bed.  A gray T-shirt hugged his wide shoulders and broad chest, then hung loose over his tight abdomen.  A pair of worn Levi's embraced long legs, and broke across the tops of well-worn combat boots.  She peered at the fuzzy daylight streaming through the window.  Her head throbbed like a bitch.  Her mouth felt like a carpet.  She pushed herself off the bed and stood up shakily.

kicking her muddy shoe’s aside, she stumbled to her dresser.  Every movement was painful and slow, the wood floor cold on the pads of her feet.  Natasha took out a bottle of aspirin, swallowed three without water, and headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.   Aware that Barnes was tracking her every move.  But she wasn’t ready to deal with him, she had too many things about Damascus to shift through.  Too many blanks to fill in.

_“What hell happened to you last night?”_ James asked through the closed door.  the sound of the shower being turned on was the only response he got.  After a few minutes, he could just see wisps of steam curling around the edges of the door. Hot shower.  Thinking about what she looked like naked and wet made him a candidate for a cold one.  He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and drew in a ragged breath.  He needed to focus on HYRDA, not her.

The knowledge that the operation was compromised thrummed through James.  Hydra was on the move, and he and Romanoff we’re on a clock.  They’d have to move fast to try to contain the damage and harden their defenses before it was too late.   He fully expected HYDRA to make an appearance very soon.  The difference this time was he was prepared to make a stand.

And anyone that came their way was an enemy.

Turning the water as hot as it would go, Natasha stepped under the spray and steeped for what seemed like hours.  Her muscles were bunched and tightened; she was tense and felt stretched out like a rubber band.  She just let the heat pound down all around her, looking until the water was no longer stained brown with mud.

She remembered little more than bits and pieces of Syria-not enough to connect the dots-but she knew someone had played with her mind.  She could conjure nothing of true significance, no fully fleshed scenario that had taken place after she’d been taken captive.  Her mind worked furiously to grab onto something that would tell her what had happened to her.

She took a deep breath and tried to remember the past, but no matter how hard she tried, nothing new came to her.  Unclear images floated around her brain but she simply had no control over what she could latch on to.   Nausea hit her as though she were afraid of heights, then searing pain lanced through her brain.  Her hands trembling.

_“Shit”_ she murmured, her blood turning to ice.  This wasn’t the first time she’d had an episode like that.  This Red Room tactic of suppressing her memories.  The whole time her mind kept spinning, looking for who she’d missed.  Who was left alive from the Red Room other than her?  Cold rage slide through her.  Whoever had messed with her was going to die.  Slowly.   Painfully.

Natasha turned off the water and stood motionless in the shower, considering the situation.  Most aspects of what had happened in Damascus remained shrouded in mystery.  However, she now knew two particulars.  Zemo being in Syria had been an elaborate ruse to draw her out into the open and HYDRA didn’t want her dead, or she’d already be dead.  No, they wanted something else with her entirely. 

The question was what?  And what was Barnes’ involvement in it?  Was he pretending to be normal?  Was he so good, that he could fool her?  That answer didn’t feel right.  No.  This was about her and Barnes.  Her instincts were screaming it at her.  It didn’t really matter one way or the other.  She had nothing to grasp onto except the bare bones of a mystery.  She had all the questions without a clue where to even begin looking for some answers

Natasha climbed out and dressed herself, shoving her wet hair back. She felt better because she was cleaner, but she still felt ready to come out of her skin.   She needed answers, or at the very least, a hint of what direction to go in.  Right now, she had nothing, and she found that incredibly frustrating.

Also frustrating was the walking billboard for all things wicked and carnal, that had invaded her turf, and was still in her bedroom.  She didn’t want or need a partner.  Especially if that partner turned out to be a HYDRA plant.  The thought put a knot in Natasha’s stomach.  She was going on faith that Barnes was the square shooter she’d assumed he was.  Either way, Barnes was a loose cannon and Natasha wanted him out of her life as fast as she could get rid of him. 

True doubt about Barnes crept in.  Natasha was trained to see evil in innocent actions, to question all possibilities.  She had to face the fact that Barnes could be using her right now.  That he’d initiated contact in Panama for a particular purpose that had nothing to do with taking down HYDRA.

To what end, she didn’t exactly know.  But she had to admit she could be working with a partner trying to get something from her or maneuver her in some way.  But like it or not, she was stuck with Barnes.   She’d just have to ignore the fact that the man had one of those dark, deep voices, the kind that made men listen and women shed their clothing.  She needed to push him. Determine how far, if at all, she should trust him.

It was time to find out what Barnes really wanted.  And she had no intention of playing nice.  _“Time to redefine the word Bitch.”_

Ten minutes later Natasha held up a hand as she walked out of her bedroom.  _“Talk to me and you’ll be as dead as Monty Python’s parrot.”_  She told James in a voice that said if he did she’d likely slit his throat.   

_“Are you threatening me?”_  He asked, completely outraged at such a thing.  He was also relieved that she was fully in control of herself once more.

_“You bet your incredibly attractive and probably hard enough to bounce a quarter off ass I am!”_   The look she gave him would have withered a lesser man.

As Natasha made her way into the kitchen, she was grateful to see that the coffee had already been made.  She snatched up a mug, plastered her lips to the cup and sucked down a scalding hot mouthful.  It burned, but she didn’t give a damn.  She held the cup to her chest as if it were her best friend while feeling the instant affect the caffeine had on her mood and smiled.   _“Hello, lover.”_

James paused in stride at the kitchen’s entry way stunned.  Until he realized Romanoff was talking to her coffee, not him.   He took in the salient details of her with a practiced glance.  Waiting for his heart to beat normally again.  She wore a sleeveless black top that exposed her toned arms and shoulders.  The slight dip at the top of her shirt exposed the swell of her breasts every time she took a breath.  Trying to find something safer to focus on, he dropped his gaze only to find black leggings hugging her body like a second skin.  It was enough to make him wonder if she’d cranked the houses heat all the way up.

Though he was lost in thought, anger was humming just under the surface. _“I take it I can speak now.  What the hell happened to you?!”_  He finally asked.

Natasha glanced up from her coffee cup to look at him.  Betraying no expression at all.  Her face a closed book.  Barnes filled the doorframe—all six plus feet of him.  He was an imposing individual with his wide shoulders straining his gray T-shirt, intense stare, and don’t-fuck-with-me manner.  He had an edge to his expression, as if he didn't trust anyone.

_“I don’t know.”_  She answered crisply.

James considered her terse answer.  He glanced out the window then back at Romanoff.  _“You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”_  

Natasha looked down at the cuts and bruises on her arms, she could feel every one of them all over her body.   _“I think I fell down a hill…No, I think I may have been pushed.”_   She stated, sounding though she were addressing the observation to herself instead of him.   She’d been scared last night, afraid of what had been chasing her.  But what the hell had it been?  Natasha looked sharply back up at James, her muscles tightening, as a fuzzy memory of her fighting him the night before hit her. _“You were there.  We fought.”_

_“No. I was here.  You came running through the door, beat to hell, panicked and incoherent.”_  James informed her _.  “I thought you had a battalion of HYDRA soldiers after you.  Then you attacked me.”_   He leaned against the doorjamb and put his arms across his chest.  _“So, let’s try again.  What happened?”_   anger and resentment warred within him, along with a million questions.

Natasha took another sip of her coffee and returned his gaze with her same featureless, unreadable expression.  She asked a question of her own instead of answering his. _“What day is it?”_

_“Saturday.”_

She nodded, trying to think through the last several days.  All she could remember was the big, sweaty guy in the alley and his friends.  Nothing about where she’d been taken or what they had done to her.  Her greater concern though was that they had known to bring her here, to her safe house.  How had they discovered where she lived? 

Natasha shrugged, looking at the angry, incredibly impatience man standing in her kitchen. _“I remember bits and pieces of last night.  I’m certain I was given some type of Hallucinogenic drug.”_

_“Does that happen to you a lot?"_ James asked sarcastically, as he walked toward the refrigerator. _"You, the woman who blows up buildings and can carve up a man three times her size in ten seconds.  That must have been fun."_  

_“Oh, it was marvelous,”_ Natasha replied. A smile playing across her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes. _“A truly unique experience. I’ll have to do it again sometime.”_   Natasha poured more coffee into her mug, she put the pot down, turned and held onto the counter behind her for support.  " _Also, you forgot to mention my sniper-like shooting skills.”_

James grabbed a bottle of water from the frig and turned to her.  It physically hurt to look at her, she was so goddamn beautiful.  Her sun-kissed skin had a golden tint to it, making her long-lashed, jade-green eyes stand out in her oval face.  Full, drop-a-man-to-his-knees lips were slightly parted as she looked at him. 

A tilt of her head brought her long-red hair falling over one shoulder in thick strands.  One lock fell against her cheek, the end brushing the corner of her mouth.  She barely reached his shoulder, but he’d learned that what she lacked in height she made up for in determination, brains, and skill.  As he drank, he looked his fill.  He allowed himself this small violation of the rules he’d put in place for himself last night concerning her.

With the water finished, he tossed the empty bottle into the trash and sat down at the kitchen table.   James told himself this was a mission like any other.  Except it wasn’t.  Because she was there.  Willful, secretive, fierce Romanoff.

_“You’re staring”_ Natasha said without looking up from her coffee mug.

_“I’m thinking”_

She shot him a wry look _“About what?”_

_“What happened before they drugged you?”_   James took a deep breath.  Her non-answers were getting under his skin.

_”The last thing I remember clearly is letting myself get captured in Damascus Tuesday afternoon.  Everything in between is blank.”_ Natasha told him conversationally, sounding as though she was discussing the weather. 

He paused for a moment to let her words sink in.  _“You let yourself get captured?!  On purpose?!  Are you an idiot or do you just have a death wish?”_   James stood up, knocking his chair back violently, his eyes flashing his temper, although his voice was quiet.  Quiet steel.

Natasha turned away and set her coffee cup down hard, turning her fingers into tight fists. _“I know you don’t think I had a clue what I was getting into, Barnes, but I’m not stupid._   _I didn’t just up and decide to let them take me._   _It’s something I thought about and planned out.”_ But she knew that even the most well thought out plans, the no-holes plans, could sometimes fail.

_“Clearly.”_ James snorted, his blue eyes darkening in frustration. _“Tell me did you get any useful intel during the days you **can’t** remember?” _He watched Natasha’s shoulders tense as she looked down at the kitchen counter. 

A memory of Syria arose, as unwelcome as the man standing in her kitchen.  But Natasha kept it to herself.   Another man had been there with her in Damascus.  He’d wanted her and Barnes both to remember something.  That it had been vital to her captor that she remember her past _._

_“Actually, Yes.  Whoever is in charge, is dangerous_ , _unstable.”_ Turning back around. Her eyes narrowing pointedly at James, Natasha asked.  “ _Remind you of anyone?”_ To herself she thought, _“Dangerous enough that he could get inside my head and mess with it.”_

_“Do you know how many of them there were?_   _Or what types of weapons they had?  Anything useful?”_

_“So sorry,”_ Natasha said, her voice tight. _“But if I’d known there was going to be a firearms examination at the end of the kidnapping, by God, I would have studied for it!”_  Frustrated with him that he was angry with her for doing her job.

Rage crackled and hissed within James at the sarcastic comment.  It felt as if the careful, diplomatic dance they had been engaged in had ended.  He knew what HYDRA could make you do if they were in control.  Romanoff had definitely not been in control last night.  How could the woman have been so stupid as to let HYDRA take her?  How in the hell could she be so calm about it?  He was living proof of what HYDRA could do to a person. 

_“Do you have any idea what HYRDA could have done to you?  What they could have made you do to someone else?!”_   James snarled, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.  _“If you survive, you've got to live with the guilt, and that's more difficult than looking someone in the eye and pulling the trigger. Trust me. I've done both.”_

_“And you think I haven’t!_   _I don’t sell Avon for a living.”_ Natasha snapped back.  Christ the man was infuriating.

_”I came here to protect you from Hydra and you let yourself get taken.”_

Natasha glowered back at James.  Watching him, his hands buried in his pockets—to keep from circling her neck she supposed—she couldn't help but marvel at the curious mix of 1940’s chivalry and alpha male arrogance.  She wanted to punch him and understand him simultaneously.  She took a couple of steps toward him. _“I can take care of myself, Barnes.  I’m a spy, an assassin.  It’s what I do.  I get close to the enemy, very close.  And I’m the best at it.”_

  _“Normally, I might agree.  But you need to think long and hard about where you were inside that head of yours last night, because you were panicked. You were hysterical and I need to know what it was that took you there so I can make sure you never go back.”_  James said, his entire body rigid, his jaw clenching.  _“You need to understand that HYDRA is dangerous, Romanoff.”_   

After DC James had learned that the Russian government was comprised almost entirely of HYDRA, and that they had worked their way through all levels of the American government as well.  Making it easy to see why HYDRA had such an extensive reach seemingly everywhere.  It sickened James to know that his own country-the nation he’d fought for, had been wounded for, and had been prepared to die for- was involved with such a group.  Even worse was the knowledge that despite everything the Avengers and Steve had done over the last several years, HYDRA still existed.

_“Why am I giving this guy the time of day?”_ Natasha wondered.  Any other human being who’d seen her in the state she’d been in last night, would be banished to the furthest recesses of her mind, never to be resurrected unless she drank too much vodka. 

_“I don’t need you to keep me safe.”_   She ground out.

_“If I say I will protect you, I will.  They want you dead.  HYDRA’s not going to just stop hunting you.”_  James burst out, exasperation flavoring his tone.  He was going to protect her come hell or high water.  There might be debate, and she wouldn’t like it, but he’d deal with that later.

He watched the angry woman standing across the room from him.  How had she managed to get away? Or even get all the way back to her house.  Romanoff had been in no condition last night to effectively fight anyone, much less a group of HYDRA guards.  She’d said she’d been in Damascus.  The safe house was nowhere near the war-torn city.

Natasha mentally cracked her knuckles.  Time to go for the jugular.

_“Yeah, got a scar on my shoulder that proves fucked up can hunt you down just cause your breathing.”_   She replied savagely.  Her face a mask of calculated indifference. 

 James shoved his fingers through his hair and didn’t say a word.  Natasha wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Tension showed in every line of his body.

_“I’m sorry.  That was bitchy.  This situation isn’t your fault.”_ Natasha said, throat tight.

But James didn’t appear to hear her apology.  His hands fisted at his sides, a hard, dangerous edge in his eyes. And she realized it wasn't anger she sensed, but rage.  Seething.  Building.  He did not like the reminder of their past, nor would he look her in the eye.  His steely glare was pinned to the wall over her shoulder.

_“I did not choose to be a monster—a shell of a man—Part-human, part-.”_   He lifted his bionic arm and gestured roughly with it.   _“But I am choosing to never let anyone turn me into their weapon again.”_   He said, his voice vibrating with fury.  Natasha had nothing to say.  She sat down in her kitchen chair. 

James nostrils flared as he continued to glare. _“You’re one cold fucking bitch.”_   He told her, as he stormed past her and out the back door to do a perimeter check.

He needed a moment alone.  An immediate moment alone.

James waited until he was far out of sight of the house before stopping and trying to get his anger in check.  The infuriating woman knew exactly how to exasperate him, even without words.  And she never seemed to get riled up about anything, which only pissed him off more.  Until her sudden reminder about him shooting her.  

Romanoff kept everything hidden and held tightly in check.  The walls she’d erected were so tall and thick no one could get through.  She’d acted as if what HYDRA had done to her was little more than an inconvenience to her week.  Yet somehow, he’d managed to piss her off?  No.  That didn’t ring true.  She wasn’t someone that lost control of their emotions.

James’ mind sifted through all the different scenarios of what Romanoff might be up to.  She was a spy and spies manipulated and played games.  They sought intel, not conflict without cause.  _“God Damn it!”_   James growled.  She was playing him again.  Pushing him toward a reaction.  She had a particular goal in mind with her game.  The question was what was it?

Was she trying to get him to walk away, let her handle HYDRA on her own?  She could have gotten rid of him by simply giving his location up while she’d been in Damascus.  James blew out a heavy breath as the answer hit him.  Syria.  Every time her gaze had landed on him this morning it had been with annoyance or distrust.  He’d shown up in her life and her very next mission had gone to hell.

If he’d been under HYDRA’s control, if he were their Winter Soldier, he wouldn’t have given a damn about shooting her.  In fact, he probably would have been amused by her anger over it.  Found it mildly interesting that she’d managed to survive three separate encounters with him.  But he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore.  All he felt was weighed down by guilt over what he’d done and angry with her for reminding him of a past he wanted to forget.

Rubbing a hand over his face, James turned and headed back to the house.  All he could do was hope that she’d gotten the answers she was looking for from him.  And maybe, see if he could get her to dial down the bullshit a little.  Dealing with her was like being at sea in a category five hurricane.  In a row boat.  With a hole in it. 

Natasha knew exactly what she was.  The life she lived made her shut down her emotions, but the truth was, Barnes got under her skin in a way no one had in a long time.  Cold, she most definitely was.  How else could she get through each day?  She’d wanted to push him for a genuine emotional response.  See if he could be trusted.  See if he was actually in control of himself. 

She was known for being well-spoken.  Known for reading a situation and doing and/or saying whatever was needed.  To know the words that needed to be said when everything around them was falling apart.  Yet somehow, she’d just managed to say the worst thing possible to a man just reaching out for some help.

Normally she didn’t believe in guilt, she simply hadn’t been trained to worry about what she told people.  But for once, she was shaken enough to feel real guilt that she’d gone farther than she should have with Barnes.  At least, she now was certain of what she’d hoped to be true all along.  Barnes was a victim, not a villain.  He was also a nuisance.  Something along the lines of accidentally rubbing chili in your eye while cooking.   Bloody annoying, stings like a bitch, but it won’t kill you.

Every HYDRA base she’d brought down was cause for celebration.  But she simply moved on to the next.  It was a never-ending war.  Now, she was in the middle of another one.  A new one that changed all the rules.  And this time, Barnes had been brought into it with her.  The idea of having to work with Barnes was its own type of torment.  But she was pretty damn sure HYDRA hadn’t yet gotten what they wanted from Barnes.  Which meant she needed to keep him close.

Who were these people running HYDRA?  It was no mystery that the clandestine organization wanted power and world domination.  The fact that they were willing to free Barnes and take her captive told Natasha how serious they were.  She had no choice but to work with Barnes to stop HYDRA and figure out how they were connected to the Red Room.  If that meant spending time alone with the pigheaded man that thought she needed him to keep her safe, then she would suck it up.

Natasha blew out a breath and started rummaging through the kitchen cabinets looking for something to eat and give Barnes time to calm down.  She felt Barnes’ presence before she heard him. The man moved like smoke.  Standing still, she waited for him to join her as breakfast cooked on the stove. 

_“I’m sorry.”_  James said tightly.  _“I have a temper.”_

Natasha glanced at him.  He still seemed like a ball of anger and frustration.  _“You were right.  I never should have said that._   _I know what it’s like not to be in control of your actions, your life.”_  She said slowly, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear.

_“Do you?”_  James asked defeatedly.  He didn’t like feeling defeated, or being reminded of it.  He sat back down at the kitchen table and studied Romanoff intently.

_“Yes.”_  She admitted, her voice the softest whisper.  Not wanting to get into a discussion about her past with the virtual stranger sitting beside her.  But she needed him to know she didn’t blame him for anything that had happened in their past.  _“and like you, I know the pain and guilt of survival.”_

Natasha put the Glock she’d been concealing under her clothes on the table.  James got the message.  Whatever else this morning had been about she no longer viewed him as a possible threat.  He also had to wonder, looking at her rather tight outfit, how she’d managed to conceal the weapon.  James raised an eyebrow at her inquiringly.

Natasha smirked.  _“That’s it.  No K-bar or C-4. One shot through the eye, no muss, no fuss.   Clean kill.”_

_“Well gee, thanks for not shooting me.”_ James drawled.

Natasha looked straight at him.  _“I don’t shoot innocent people.  Not anymore.”_  

Continuing to mess with Barnes wasn’t going to do either of them any good, Natasha decided.  They were stuck with each other until HYDRA was stopped.  She couldn’t just kick him out in the cold.  HYDRA wanted something from both of them.  Keeping Barnes with her where she could keep an eye on him was the smart move.  Even if it was uncomfortable. 

Deciding she needed to lighten the mood between them, Natasha looked down at James with playfulness dancing in her green eyes.  _“Ah, the mating dance of covert operatives.  It’s a wonder we ever get close enough to kill each other, isn’t it?”_

James made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.   _“I don’t need to get close to kill you.  Something you’d do well to remember.  I can be turned into your enemy, Romanoff.  Never forget that.  if HYDRA uses the right trigger words then tells me to kill you, I will obey.”_ He lectured _._

_“I’ll keep that in mind.”_  She quipped, as she turned back to the stove to keep the breakfast from burning. _“But you need to remember, if things go south, you might not be the one to worry about.  So let’s do both ourselves a favor and not start comparing kill counts.”_

_“I’ve had decades…”_ James started bitterly.

_“That I didn’t need.”_ Natasha cut him off, in a tone that said conversation over.

Natasha didn’t need the reminder.  She’d spent her entire life in covert ops and she’d gotten to know some pretty bad people.  She knew what the risk of having Barnes with her was.  She’d work with him, she’d live with him, she might even trust her life with him. But none of that made them friends. It couldn't.  Because one day, she might have to end him.  Of course, if things didn’t go her way Barnes might not be the only one that needed to be ended.

What she couldn’t figure out was that Zemo had been taken first, yet Barnes was given the wrong trigger words.  Why was HYDRA letting him roam free of their control?

_“Did I hurt you?”_

_Natasha faced James and rolled her eyes. “You shot me twice.  Yes, it hurt.”_

James sighed. _“I meant last night.”_

_“just my ego, and my arms, and my chest, and my back, but luckily they’re just bruised.”_

_“You said I shot you in the stomach…but I don’t remember it.  Where?”_

_“Odessa.”_ Natasha responded, offering nothing more. 

Something inside her said that the deeper they got into their past the more it would help HYDRA reach its goal.  Whatever that was.   HYDRA had already been leaving hints to a past she couldn’t remember and it was clear Barnes had blanks in his memories as well.   Better that they stick to the present problem and leave the past where it belonged.  Forgotten.

Natasha set a plate of pancakes down in front of James.  _“Eat.”_  

As James started eating Natasha briefly and succinctly recited to him what she could remember about her mission in Syria, and her recent missions in Columbia and Panama.  She also told him her theory that HYDRA didn’t want her dead, but rather wanted something else entirely from both of them. 

James listened with growing anger, irritation, and even surprise, at all that Natasha had withheld.  At the same time, it could open new lines of inquiry for them-that was, if she could be relied upon.  There were secrets in her eyes that had nothing to do with Damascus, and a hollowness as well.  One that moved him because he recognized it.  He’d seen it in the reflection of his own mirror.  James listened impassively, taking care not to betray any reaction.

Natasha finished her story and fell silent, looking at Barnes, as if expecting a reply.  He gave her none.  After a long moment, she rose from the kitchen table and went back to the stove.  _“It appears that we’re stuck with each other for a while.  We both know you want me to be your bait to get to HYDRA.  So this is the deal.   You use me, I use you.  Because until we know what HYDRA’s real endgame is, we’re all being used.”_

James shifted in his chair uncomfortably.Yes, that had been his original plan.  But last night had changed things, not that he wanted to discuss that with her. _“I’d say what you’re doing these days is way off the idiocy scale, so I guess you can put up with me.”_ He finally said. 

_“Meaning?”_

For a moment, James considered being evasive and giving Romanoff a taste of her own medicine.  Instead, he answered her question.  _“Meaning I could’ve backed you up in Syria.  Kept HYDRA from doing anything to you when things went south.”_

_“I see”_ Natasha seemed to ponder something for a moment.  _“Because you and Zemo on the same continent, much less in the same room, sounds like a brilliant plan to me.”_ Natasha continued, exasperated all over again with the man. 

_“Point taken.”_   James muttered, before stuffing more pancakes into his mouth.  _“In other words, you figure me for the bumbling idiot you think most other operatives are.”_   He thought.

_“Let's be honest. There's not really any safe way to let yourself be taken hostage by a top-secret organization, trained in every manner of mind control and manipulation and bent on word domination by any means necessary.”_   Natasha continued as if she hadn’t even heard Barnes.

James sat back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling, mentally reviewing everything Romanoff had told him.  Where earlier she had, perversely, seemed to have little or no interest in sharing with him, she had suddenly become the soul of forthrightness.  It was too pat.  This sudden about-face, this open and apparently friendly offer of cooperation. 

He believed her story, as cockamamie as it sounded.  It was just that he was sure there was more she wasn’t saying.  But that was all right for the moment James decided.  He’d spent decades honing his skill at outwaiting an adversary.  He could outwait the spy too.  Eventually, he’d discover everything she was hiding from him.  Hopefully while still being able to keep his own secrets.

_“Do you want more?”_   Natasha asked, indicating the frying pan and pulling James from his thoughts.

James nodded, then took in the scene around him.  Romanoff standing at the stove cooking yet more food and talking to him.  Not that he was complaining about that.  Cause pancakes.  But it made him feel uncomfortable.  It was normal.  Normal was not something James did.  Normal was for regular people.  It was disquieting.

_“This is really good,”_ James said, attacking his fifth stack of pancakes.

_“You sound surprised,”_ Natasha replied.

He shrugged. _“I just didn’t think a spy would be able to cook like this.”_

_“Well, I do get lots of practice with knives. You could say I’m multitasking.”_

James froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

_“I’m kidding._   _I enjoy cooking._   _It relaxes me. Consider it an I’m sorry I tried to slash your throat open last night gift.”_

A laugh jumped out of James’ mouth, surprising him.  The short conversation had made him feel slightly more at ease.   Without a word, James abruptly got up from the table and left the room.  Natasha was a little confused by his behavior but decided not to follow him.  A bit of space between the two of them seemed like a good thing.   

When James returned he handed Natasha a business card, telling her _“You dropped this last night.”_

Natasha read the card _“Dr. Johann Fennhoff MD.”_

_“Who is he?”_

_“I have no idea, but let’s find out.  I need to call Fury anyways before the man comes unhinged.  He hasn’t heard from me in several days and we don’t need him sending in the Calvary to rescue me.”_ She couldn’t keep Nick in the dark forever, but she didn’t relish the upcoming argument with him either.

 James stared at her long and hard, as if he were gauging a cloudbank that might be worth the trouble to sail around rather than go through.  _“I thought you said you didn’t want anyone else involved in this.”_

_“He was already involved long before you came along.”_   Seeing Barnes tense stance, she added.  _“Relax Barnes. He’s not going to come in and haul you a way to some secure facility.  He already knows you’re with me.”_   She spun to leave the kitchen, in search of her secure satellite phone,

_“Romanoff.”_    James called after her.  When she turned around, he asked, _“which is the real you, the cold-blooded spy or the nice guy?”_

“Yes.” Natasha answered with a deceptively innocent smile.  And then she left. 


	11. Critical Position

Natasha headed down the hallway toward the door that led to her workout room.  As she approached, the punching bag caught her eye.  It was swinging from the ceiling hook, but no Barnes in sight.   She stepped closer to the door, then froze as Barnes came into view, bare chested and barefoot.  He had shorts on, but nothing else.  Her breath hitched, but her reaction didn’t stop her from peering back through the door.  He was there, his ripped physique mesmerizing. 

He looked violent as he attacked the hanging bag as though it was a threat to his life.  His body weaving and dodging the bag when it came back at him.  She stood frozen in place as she watched James move around the punching bag with ease, his limbs delivering controlled, punishing blows over and over again.  She was impressed with how much control he had over his bionic arm.  Her mind spun, questions mounting, as she quietly observed him become a man possessed, that temper he had warned her about clear and present.  She wondered who he saw before him?

As she started to retreat, he suddenly grabbed the bag with both hands and rested his forehead on the leather, his body falling into the now subtle sway of the punching bag.  His glimmering back was dripping and heaving, she could see his solid shoulders rise suddenly.  Then he slowly turned toward the door.  She was rooted in place as his chest, slicked with a sheen of sweat, came into view and her eyes slowly crawled up his torso until she could see his side profile.

He knew he was being watched. 

Natasha made sure to keep her face blank as his gaze trapped hers.   _“Instant sexual attraction,”_ she thought.  The way his intense blue eyes raked over her body and he made no attempt to conceal it, told her he felt the chemistry between them too.

_“Any woman would have to be dead not to be attracted to the walking mass of sexy that was James Barnes.”_ Natasha acknowledged to herself.  That was fine.  As long as it didn’t become a distraction, she planned to ignore the whole issue.  She didn't want to get involved with anyone.  Especially not Barnes.  She didn't have the time or energy. 

James returned her look with a knowing one of his own.   As if he could read every one of the thoughts going through her head. _“Careful.”_  His rogue smile crept out. _“I’m lethal.”_

_“Point to him.”_ Natasha thought, grudgingly.  Time to get this situation back where it belonged.  Firmly under her control.  _“Trouble sleeping last night Barnes?”_  She asked, changing topics. _“I heard you moving around.”_  

James’ eyes hooded and he frowned at her.  _“I got hungry.”_   No way in hell was he going to discuss his nightmares with her, or any of the other reasons he couldn’t sleep last night.  Most of which had to do with her being in the room across the hall.

_“Hungry Huh?”_

_"You've never done that? Gotten up in the middle of the night and wanted a snack?"_

_"Yes, but I wouldn't bother to put on my underwear."_  Natasha watched his face as her words sank in _._

_"What do you...oh."_  James’ chest expanded as he inhaled sharply, the image of her walking around the house naked popping into his mind.

_“Amateur.”_  Natasha snorted smugly, then turned around and headed back down the hall calling over her should as she went. _“Fury will be here in thirty.”_

Only when she was out of sight did James’ tension begin to dissipate. Watching Romanoff walk was better than a bowl of his favorite ice cream on a scorching-hot summer day.  He shook his head. _“What the fuck was I thinking.”_ He derided himself.  _“Flirting with her is a bad idea and not what I’m here for.”_

Waiting until his pulse steadied and he was certain she wouldn’t pop back in on him.  He snatched up his T-shirt and headed toward the bathroom to grab a quick, very cold shower.  James tried to put her out of his mind.  He needed to be on his game.  Especially if he was going to be working with her.  She wasn’t exactly someone that he could fully trust.

Though he’d like to confront her about everything she was keeping from him, James decided to bide his time with her.  He would see how long it would take her to be truthful with him, if ever.  He hated lies.  But he remembered that spies kept their secrets to themselves and rarely, if ever, let anyone get too close.  The ability to do that often played a large role in keeping them alive. 

It was stupid to wish that Romanoff wouldn’t be like every other spy he had worked with.  But still, it galled James on a personal level that she felt he couldn’t be trusted with her secrets.  The irony that he hadn’t done anything to earn that level of trust from her, and that he didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him, wasn’t lost on him. 

When Nick Fury entered the house through the kitchen door it was to the sound of his top agent arguing with Sergeant Barnes in the living room.  He paused in the kitchen to eavesdrop and get a read on the situation. 

James glared at Natasha for a long moment then said.  _“I don’t like playing all these games.”_

_“Games?”_

_“Yeah…games.”_

_“How do you mean games?”_ Natasha inquired, innocently.

_“You know what I’m Talking about.”_ James shot back.

_“I’m not sure I do.”_

_“The way you pissed me off yesterday, this morning in the workout room.”_

_“What about it?”_

_“You were testing me.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yes!”_ James said in a deceptively easy tone. _“You were trying to get a rise out of me.  So you could study me.”_   He gestured at her.

Natasha gave him a placating smile.  _“You’re the one who sounds paranoid, not me.”_

James stared at her in irritated confusion. What was her game?   _"Do you think I'm an idiot?"_ he spat out.

_"No,"_ she said. _"I've just escaped from a den of idiots, so I'm well familiar with the breed, and you're something else entirely.”_

That, Nick decided, was his que to step in before Natasha left the man lying in a pool of blood.  He quickly poured a cup of coffee and headed into the living room to prevent any blood shedding.  Natasha’s last sentence had caught Nick’s attention and he wanted answers.  All she’d said on the phone yesterday was _“Things didn’t go as planned in Syria and Barnes is at the house with me.”_

James silently observed Fury as he entered the living room holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a file in the other. The chill in Fury’s mood was obvious.  Fury’s skin was a leathery, dark brown and all of it, even his cheeks, seemed tightly wound with muscle and tendons.  He wondered about the eye patch and how Fury had gotten it.   

James watched him move across the room toward Romanoff.  The man swiveled his head from left to right casually.  Most people would have missed it, but James’ senses had been opened to the reality that the world was divided between those who were part of the herd and those who liked to hunt.  Fury was checking his flanks.

Nick took one look at Natasha’s mulish expression and handed her the cup of coffee. _"Drink. This should restore your inner bitch."_ Nick scowled at her.  Natasha accepted the cup and let her face relax into a more neutral expression.  _"See?"_  Nick said.   _"It's working already, and all you've had are fumes.”_

Natasha instantly recognized the touch of intensity in Nick’s voice.  It made her instantly alert.  _“What’s happened?”_  

_“We’ll get to that.  First, I’d like you to explain to me in great detail this den of idiots you just escaped from,”_ Nick said, then jerking a thumb at James he continued, _“and why you let the stray follow you home.”_  

Nick studied James standing across the room, while he waited for Natasha to start talking.  James met his gaze and stood sphinxlike, refusing to yield his position.  Alpha dogs always recognized another alpha when they saw one.  Barnes remind Nick of an adult dog, a dog that had been out in the woods for a long time, trying to decide whether or not they could be trusted.  Whether this was his place. And it mattered to Barnes, he'd rather starve than make the wrong decision.

So why was he with Nat and not Rodgers?  And why was she apparently trying to antagonize the younger man?  She didn’t do that without a reason.

For James, the situation was a bit surreal.  He was standing in the living room with two people he’d shot and tried to kill, yet they were acting as if it was just another day at the office for them.   Still, even from across the room he could see the displeased look in Fury’s eye.  James could feel the weight of his decision to find Romanoff and not Steve. 

A door closing.  He had picked one path over another and this one was undoubtedly the more dangerous one.  There were no detours, no barricades, nothing he wouldn’t do to carry out his mission.  James knew the score.  He knew his chain was about to be jerked every which way and he was willing to endure it for his chance to get to HYDRA.

_“Let’s clear the air first.”_   Nick said studying James.  _“If I wanted you dead Barnes, I’d have given Romanoff the order to take you out in your sleep.  I’d have shown up here this morning with a cleanup crew and keys to a new safe house.”_

_“You think she’d be able to get that close?”_  James asked curtly.

_“I already have.”_  Natasha reminded him. Turning to Nick she raised her eyebrow inquiringly at him.

Nick shrugged. _“I’m brutally honest.”_

_“No kidding. Sometimes a little too honest._   _There’s this word called tact, it’s in the dictionary under the letter T.”_

_“We don’t have time for pussyfooting around and Barnes needed to know where he stands. I don’t hold him responsible for what HYDRA made him do. Now let’s chat about that den of idiots?”_

_“Chat. American-speak for stand still while I yell at you.”_  Natasha quipped back.  But she had put this conversation off as long as she could, it was time to tell Nick everything.  Or at least more than she had been telling him.

Natasha gave Nick as many details about everything that had happened since she’d spoken with him in Panama as she could.  ames told Nick about what had happened in Wakanda and why he went looking for Romanoff.  Nick listened quietly without comment until the other two had finished.  Barnes was more than frustrated that Natasha had left him behind, but Nick could understand her motives for that call.  He’d have made the same one.  What he couldn’t understand was the bullshit she’d pulled in Syria. 

  _“God Damn it, Romanoff!  We had an agreement.  You don’t go that deep unless I have some way of tracking your every movement.  You could have been killed.”_

_“Hmmm, wonder where I’ve heard that before.”_ James muttered darkly.  _“Oh yeah, from me.”_ Natasha shot James a nasty look.

_“Look I…”_ Natasha began.  Nick cut off what she was about to say.

_“Don’t.  Don’t even try to feed me the I had a limited window crap.  That shit isn’t going to fly with me and you know it.”_  Nick barked, his scowl became almost fierce as he waved a hand angrily in Natasha’s general direction.  _“You’ve been holding out on me for months, that ends here.  Now.  What is it you’re not telling me?”_

Natasha chewed on her back teeth over Nicks comments but didn’t argue.  She didn’t like having to admit to what she was about to tell Nick.  She liked that she had an audience for it even less.  But things had reached a point where she no longer had the option of keeping it to herself.  She took a couple of sips of her coffee and debated how much she would say.

  _“I’ve been compromised.”_  She told Nick begrudgingly.

Both men’s heads shot up at her statement.  Nick felt his anger blossom into real worry for her.  Everything SHIELD had on her, which was extensive, had been released to the public years ago.  Nick made a slight gesture with his hand, turning his palm up, asking Natasha to proceed.  In the Shadows across the room James remained standing—perfectly silent—taking everything in.

_“What do you mean compromised?”_   Nick demanded, when Natasha still said nothing more. 

_“I mean that every place I’ve hit over the last nine months something has been left there for me.  Something that I would take personally.”_

_“Like the love letter in Columbia?”_

_“What love letter?”_ James asked, jaw tight.  His hands involuntarily clenching as he remembered her wedding picture.

_“HYDRA painted a death threat on one of the walls for her.”_ Nick answered. _“Then they went and got you out of storage.”_

James was certain there was something seriously wrong with him when his body relaxed at hearing Fury’s reply.  But James’ reactions hadn’t gone unnoticed by Fury.  Nick smiled inwardly to himself.  _“Barnes has a thing for Natasha.  Good, that may be useful.”_   Nick hadn’t figured out how yet but Sergeant James Barnes was in this mess up to his eyeballs.

_“I’m pretty sure that message was more for you than me.”_  Natasha told Nick, _“I think someone got tired of me not being in a sharing mood and wanted your attention more than mine.”_

_“Then what exactly are we talking about?”_   Nick probed, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.  There were entirely too many things in Natasha’s past that could spring up and bite her in the ass. 

_“Hints, clues about the parts of my past that I can’t remember.  Then there’s Damascus.  The way my memories have been suppressed screams Red Room involvement.  But I don’t see how that’s possible.  Not now.”_   Natasha said all this calmly, dispassionately, as though she was discussing someone else’s life not her own.  She briefly considered telling Nick about the wedding photo, but the words lodged in her throat and she held them there.  No, that she would deal with alone.

_“Fuck Romanoff!_ _Anything else you **forgot** to share yesterday?”_  James demanded.  He wanted to ask her about this Red Room but he doubted she’d answer. 

_“Why after doing her best to give me only the barest scraps of information, why is she suddenly willing to spill all her secrets?”_  James pondered. Two possibilities; A, she wants something from Fury or B, she isn’t spilling all her secrets.  He reminded himself that he couldn’t necessarily trust anything she said or did.

He stared hard at Natasha, wondering what her deal was.  Her gaze was steady, her body relaxed, her hands quiet.  Too steady. Too relaxed.  Too quiet.  She was still holding back.  James’ stomach tightened and his pulse picked up and strengthened until he could hear its rush through his head.  He’d thought he could play Romanoff’s game until she finally gave it up, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

Part of him wanted to confront her, to make her spill everything she knew or suspected.  But when that happened what if she took off?  She was his only link to HYDRA, and he didn’t want to be without her.

_“You mean like the fact that you can camouflage that arm of yours?”_ Natasha shot back.  She wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

James’ blue eyes snapped to her green one’s.  _“How in the fuck do you know about that?”_

Before Natasha could utter a comeback, Nick held up his hand.  _“Quiet both of you.  I need to think.”_   He didn’t want the conversation to degrade into a shouting match between two unruly children.  He got enough of that when it was Romanoff and Barton arguing with each other.

Natasha smirked and silently mouthed the word _spy_ at Barnes.  James, still not having moved, put his arms across his chest and frowned back at her. 

Nick thought back to a rumor he’d heard fifteen years earlier about an alliance between the Red Room and another unnamed organization.  Since Natasha and Clint had effectively destroyed the Red Room, the group wasn’t exactly a priority, and he’d quickly forgotten about it.  A coalition Between HYDRA and the Red Room would have taken years to build and Natasha had never mentioned any connection.  But Nick was beginning to suspect this went much deeper than any of them had anticipated.

If it hadn’t been for the inadvertent capture of a HYDRA agent, they wouldn’t even know the organization was after Natasha.  She’d survived serval clashes with HYDRA, but that didn’t mean she was safe.  Nick ran a hand over his face.  He’d thought this was about retaliation for all the damage she and Rodgers had done to the organization.  However, Panama and Damascus but a new twist on things.

Nick looked at Natasha _“Do you have any memory of how you got back here?”_

_“Nothing I can get a hold of.  Fragments.  Nothing Substantial.”_

_“So you have no idea how you got away from HYDRA?”_

“ _I told you I don’t remember.”_

_“Not even an impression.”_

James snorted disbelievingly and waited to see if Natasha would give the other man any more details than she’d given him.

Natasha made a sound of exasperation and said, _“Not even an impression!”_

Nick sighed then grimaced in frustration.   Deciding to let what had happened in Damascus drop for now.  Since, pushing Natasha was often like trying to push over a twenty-foot wide concrete brick wall.  He sat down on the sofa before saying. _“There was an explosion in Panama.  It nearly killed all our people.”_

Nick took out the file he’d brought with him, slid it across the oak coffee table, and clasped his hands in front of him.  Natasha sat in the chair across from Nick, and grabbed the file off the table.  Then she turned to Barnes and gestured for him to come over.   Once Barnes was standing beside her, Natasha opened the file and looked at the top piece of paper.

The designation across the top told her not only the sensitivity of the information but where it had originated.  This particular report had come from SHIELD.  Natasha swallowed hard as her eyes raced through the body of the text.  The bomb weighed more than five hundred kilograms.  The weapon was unnecessarily large for so modest a target. 

The SHIELD experts concluded that a charge of perhaps two hundred kilograms would have been more than sufficient to level all the buildings and kill everyone in the compound.  At five hundred kilograms, the bomb didn’t just destroy the compound, it had left a crater, twenty feet in depth.  Once Natasha had finished reading the report she looked up at Nick.

_“The shock wave was so massive it nearly knocked our Quinjet out of the air.  If our guys had been two minutes earlier, they would have been killed in the blast.”_ Nick informed her.

_“Shit!”_ Natasha hissed.

_“I didn’t plant the bomb.”_ James stated, his muscles tightening.  Two sets of eyes assessed him skeptically, neither trusted him, but what did he expect.  It was Berlin all over again.  _“I didn’t do it!”_

_“No one said you did.”_  Natasha offered. 

But Nick simply got up from the couch and walked over to the chessboard to study Natasha’s latest move against him.  He thought back to the burn pits in Columbia and the bombing in Panama.  HYDRA had captured Natasha yet they let her go.  Why?  To draw them off the scent of what the organization was really up to? 

Without looking at Natasha Nick told her _“I have half a mind to pull you off this operation and, stash you somewhere safe until we figure everything out.”_

Natasha knew it was an empty threat but it was better to make things clear between her and Nick.   _“You’re not pulling either one of us off this.”_  

Nick turned around and studied her.  _“Either **one** of you?”_

_“You keep saying I need backup.”_   Nodding toward James she continued _“He’s my backup.  Barnes stays with me.”_

James stilled and slide Natasha a surprised look.  He’d been expecting her to try to freeze him out ever since she’d called Fury.  The hours they had spent together since yesterday had been tense at best.   Most of it spent with the two of them cleaning their weapons and ignoring the others existence. 

_“And I would agree to this why?_ ”   Nick asked _.  “When I said Back up I meant Barton.  And what does Captain Rodgers think of this partnership?”_   Out in the field, she wouldn’t know who was friend or foe, or who she could trust.  That included Barnes.  Not to mention, it would be simple for HYDRA to track them.  But the safe house was compromised and Nick doubted Natasha would let him bench her anyways.

_“I didn’t ask him.”_   James answered.

_“I have my reasons.”_  Natasha replied simultaneously _._  She was pretty sure she was suffering from early onset insanity.  Barnes was Trouble with a capital T.

_“Let’s pretend you’re still in a sharing mood and explain them to me.”_ Nick said.

Natasha told Nick her theory that HYDRA wanted something from both her and Barnes.  And why she thought it was a good idea for the two of them to be out in the open.  Reminding him they still needed to find Zemo.  She was concise and to the point, but still Nick pointed out potential pitfalls and obvious dangers of pursuing her latest theory. 

She countered perfectly, telling Nick _“The game is changing.  You’ve said so yourself many times.  We can’t sit back and wait for HYDRA’s next move.  Everything taking place is connected.”_   Natasha ticked off five additional reasons why her logic was sound.  But beyond that, was the simple fact that they had to begin somewhere.  You didn’t win by thinking inside the box and following someone else’s rules.  You turned the box upside down and made your own rules, no matter what the enemy threw at you. 

By Nick’s reckoning this was an endeavor that he should have started fifteen years earlier.  He wasn’t happy with Nat’s choice of partner, but he couldn’t fault her reasons behind the decision.  He would just have to find a way to loop Barton in without putting the other agent directly in Natasha’s path.  He didn’t need two of the three most deadly assassins on the planet disappearing into thin air.  But he would keep Barton waiting on the sidelines in case he needed to be put in the game.

So with a heavy sigh, he decided to let her proceed.    _“Fine.  But you’re responsible for him.  Don’t forget for a second he can be turned against you.”_

_“I won’t hurt her.”_  James said, his voice tight, controlled.  He knew there was a very real possibility of exactly that happening and so did Romanoff and Fury.  He was trying so hard to fool them with his sane act.  But they all knew a monster of the worst sort dwelled and gnawed at the dark corners of his mind.

Fury looked James over skeptically.   _“Do you want me to accept you as you are, or do you want me to lie to myself and pretend to like and trust you?”_

_“Do I need a safe word?”_ Natasha asked in that sultry way she had, that made everything sound slightly naughty and sexual.

_“You either trust me or you don’t Romanoff.”_ James replied tightly.

_“Jesus Nat! We’re discussing a mission not sex.”_ Nick choked out.

_“What? There’s a difference? Both are dangerous, fun, and I can cause a whole lot of destruction.”_

James did an impressive eyeroll, slide Natasha a glare, and kept his silence, although it looked like it cost him.  

Nick watched them both.  Barnes had been right earlier.  Nat was definitely playing some sort of game with him and Nick was perfectly content to let her continue.  Barnes would have to forgo any of the normal training a new operative would undergo.  If the man could survive being in the field and training at the hands of Natasha Romanoff, he might indeed be useful to Nick. 

He would have to get his tech guys working overtime.  Every last file, surveillance photo, and recording that could ever tie Barnes to Natasha over the last few weeks needed to be destroyed.  

_“Start in Belarus.”_ Nick told the other two.

_“What’s in Belarus?”_ Natasha asked

_“Until a few weeks ago, a shutdown military base._   _Now suddenly it’s filling up with artillery and personnel.  Funny thing is, it’s not the Belarusians that are occupying it.  Shut it back down.”_

_“You think HYDRA’s taken over?  Which side did they pay off the politicians or the military?”_

_“Possibly Both.”_ Nick said

_“Or neither.  It’s very likely HYDRA has people high enough in both branches of the government that no one’s going to question the reopening of a base.”_  James chimed in.

  _“Aww, he is more than just a pretty face.”_ Nick said walking over to James.He ran a hand across his chin, his gaze thoughtful as he looked at James and rocked back on his heels.

James instantly smelled the acid mix of coffee and breath mints on the other man’s breath.  He wanted to take a step back, but didn’t want to appear to be backing down, so he stayed put.

_“Take a good look at Romanoff”_ Nick said curtly.

James tilted his head to the side and raked his gaze down Natasha.

_“She isn’t Captain Rodgers.  I don’t send her out to play nice.”_   Nick added in a taunting voice.

James nodded in agreement.

Natasha snorted but otherwise kept quiet.  Nick was playing his own games with Barnes now, looking for something.    

_“Eyes on me.”_   Nick snapped.

James stared at Fury but said nothing.  Fury reminded him of the ballbuster of a drill sergeant he’d had going through basic training.

_“I don’t know what kind of fucking bullshit you pulled on her.  I don’t know how you managed to con her into thinking you have what it takes to do this mission.”_

_“I doubt anyone has ever conned Romanoff in her life.”_   James cut in.   _“As for having what it takes._ _I know what I'm capable of; I am a soldier, a warrior._   _I am someone to fear, not hunt.”_

_“Fuuuck!”_   Nick shook his head as he drew out the word in disgust.  _“You really think you can do this.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And here I was hoping you were going to tell me you’d like to go find a nice quiet corner to sit in while the grown-ups took care of things.  Maybe find Rodgers.  And I’d have no problem with that.”_   Nick added quickly.  _“Hell, I’ll deliver you myself.”_

James grinned and shook his head no.  He’d figured something like this would happen and he was more amused than anything else at Fury’s tactics.

_“You’d better be sure Barnes, because the body count is going to get real high before this is all over.”_

James said nothing simply nodded.  They didn't know what was going on inside his head--the mind-numbing cocktail of anger and sadness and guilt.  He didn’t relish the idea of having to kill, at the same time; he’d learned about himself and violence in a way that could only benefit him in this situation. 

Nick eyeballed Natasha.  _“You’d better be right about him.  If this goes sideways because you brought him in I’ll stick my boot so far up your ass.”_

_“I’ll be tasting leather.”_ Natasha finished for him.

_“As long as we understand each other.”_  Nick said before turning his attention back to James.

_“Now you’re probably wondering why would I send the two of you to take down an entire base rather than call in an airstrike.”_  Nick continued, never taking his eyes off James.

_“Yep.”_

_“Well, officially it’s none of your goddamn business.  When you’re given an assignment it’s not your place to question…right?”_

James gave a halfhearted nod.  This was the world he was entering back into, and he had made his peace with his decision.  And with his decision made he had dived in with both feet.  He’d witnessed what monsters could do.  He knew what monsters continued to do when not stopped.  In this case, the monsters embodied a particular type of evil.

_“Wrong.”_   Nick said.  _“I can fuck up.  The intel can be fucked up big time.  Beyond that, you’ll run into the occasional idiot who doesn’t have a clue how things work in the real world.  When you get a kill assignment, you’d better question it, and you’d better be damn careful.  We don’t do collateral damage.  Women and children are strictly off limits.”_

_“If you want to make it out of this one day with your soul intact, follow his advice on this.  Question the assignments you’re given.  We’re not blind—or robots.”_   Natasha added quietly.

_“Are you trying to tell me the HYDRA soldiers are innocent?”_   James asked, still watching Nick closely.

_“Those guys?”_   Nick waved a dismissive hand in front of himself.  _“Hell no.  Those pieces of shit are guilty as hell.  But I want to be sure it’s a HYDRA base before we move on it.  Which means you two on the ground.”_

James digested that for a moment then said, _“The point of all this is to go out, find the enemy, and put a bullet in his head.  Right?”_

_“I suppose that’s an accurate description.”_

_“Good.”_  James said after some thought.  _“Because if we're going to do this, I want to be thorough, leave no trace, leave no teeth.  I want HYDRA destroyed.”_

_“That’s the plan.  And neither of you is allowed to die accomplishing it without my permission.”_  Nick said, looking pointedly at Natasha. 

_“So I’m your assassin?”_  James asked.

_“No.”_  Nick offered with a sly smile.  _“You haven’t killed anyone for me.  Romanoff is my assassin.”_   Facing Natasha Nick continued.  _“I’m going to turn you loose.  We need to hit these guys back.  At a bare minimum, I want them lying awake at night worried they might be next.  I want you to scare the shit out of them.  I want the Black Widow.”_

_“Am I getting access to all the toys?”_

_“You get access to whatever you want to play with.”_

Natasha’s green eyes went cold and hard.  It wasn’t often that Fury gave her carte blanche orders like this.  But she got the message, it was now time to annihilate the enemy.  No mercy, No remorse.  Her demeanor changed, as she prepared to take this fight to a new level.    She wasn’t an alpha dog like Fury and Barnes, she was an apex predator.  A species that sat astride the top of the food chain with no competition.

Offense was what she did best.  Finding the bad guys and taking the fight to them.  _“I’ll take care of HYDRA.”_  Natasha said with no emotion in her voice. 

_“I have no doubt.”_ James said.  _“But you forget we’re paired up.  That means what comes for you, comes for me and vice versa.”_

_“I’m well aware of that.”_  Natasha responded.

James held back a snort of skepticism and turned his head toward the window.  The landscape was nothing but a blur as his unfocused gaze turned inward.  Romanoff might be an unfeeling asshole, but she’d become a legend for ignoring risks to her own life in order to complete her missions.  Her latest stunt in Damascus being a good example.   James planned to look out for her when she painted herself into a corner, whether she liked it or not.

James turned back to Natasha. _“How does a weekend in Minsk sound? It's not Venice, but there’ll be lots of guns.”_

Natasha looked up, fluttering her eyelashes demurely. _“Sounds lovely.”_   Reaching into her back-pocket Natasha pulled the business card James had given her out and handed it to Nick.  _“While we’re off playing HYDRA whack-a-mole, I need you to look into who this guy is.  Apparently, I brought this back from Damascus with me.”_

 Nick looked at her in surprise.   _“I already know who he is.  He works for the CIA.  He used to be with SHIELD, worked with Barton after the Loki incident.  He’s a government approved head shrink for spies.  He hands out meds and happy talk for broken toys like him.”_ Nick finished nodding at James.

_“It would be a really bad idea not to go after this guy.”_  Natasha pressed.

_“How bad an idea?”_  Asked Nick.

_“Kicking Hitler out of art school bad.”_  James dead panned.

_“I get my head messed with and I just happen to return from Syria with a card for the Psychologist that Clint talked to.”_ Natasha continued as if she hadn’t heard either of them. 

_“Fuck.”_   Nick didn’t like it any of it.  He hated loose ends.  There were too many things stacked one upon another that didn’t make sense.  _“You two head to Belarus.  I’ll check the Doctor out, quietly dig up everything I can on Fennhoff.  Get all his case files, history, commendations, censures—whatever._   _By the time you land I’ll know his great-grandparent’s middle names and his underwear size.”_

Natasha picked up her empty coffee cup and nodded at Nick.  _“There’s one more problem I need to deal with before we leave.”_

_“What’s that?”_ Nick called out as Natasha headed for her kitchen.

_“Stark.”_

Nick turned to James as soon as Natasha was out of earshot.  _“Listen carefully.  I’ll crush you like a bug if Romanoff gets hurt.  Believe it.  Fear it.  Don’t let the eye patch fool you, son.  If she gets so much as a scratch because of you, I’ll be the nightmare you never see coming.”_   Nick fixed James in a stare that could have frozen the Pacific.  _“Spies and parents never sleep.  When it comes to Natasha think of me as both.”_

James looked back at Nick steadily.  His voice pure steel.   _“No buts, nothing._   _She has the ability to piss me off without even trying, but I'll fucking take a gun to my head before I lay a hand on her.  We clear on that?”_

Nick nodded curtly then picked up a chess piece to make his countermove against Natasha. 

James watched Fury for a moment, recalling Romanoff’s message for Fury about chess if she hadn’t made it out of Syria.   _“If you do that she’ll win in four, maybe five moves.”_

Nick shrugged then put the chess piece back down.  He was tired of losing to Romanoff.  He considered the board and wondered if he was making a huge mistake letting Barnes go with Natasha.  Nick had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that things were about to get very nasty and very bloody really fast.  Romanoff could handle that.  She operated in a world of gray.

She understood enemies needed to be killed, and she was more than willing to be the person doing the killing.  She knew what had to happen.  She’d been trained, honed and forged into the ultimate weapon, and she would hunt down every last one of the faceless men involved.  Nick wasn’t looking for her to leave a trail of living enemy combatants for him to clean up.  If Barnes turned out to be like Rodgers, and saw only black and white, it could get them both killed. 

Later that night, after Nick had left, Natasha stood on her back porch and contemplated what she and Barnes were about to face.  Her talk with Tony had been more difficult than she’d hoped it would be.  She’d had to share a few more truths than she was strictly comfortable with.  And a few lies and half-truths she had no problem telling.  But for now, Tony had agreed to stay out of it. 

James stepped out onto the porch, quietly observing Natasha.  

The breeze ruffled her hair, pushing it back from her face, giving him a clear shot of her eyes.  They were asking for an answer.  Needing to know if she could count on him.  He held her gaze and took her hand.  His hand was hard and calloused, tough with muscle and old scars.  Natasha was surprised by the gesture but didn’t comment, simply gave his hand a gentle squeeze.  

The night settled around them like a blanket.  They could hear the water lapping against the lakeshore.  They were totally alone.

_“we’re leaving tomorrow?”_  James asked quietly.

_“Of course.”_

_“Good.”_


	12. Priyome

The Range Rover drove uphill through the outskirts of the city before arriving at a black wrought-iron gateway, reinforced with painted steel panels behind the ironwork, set into a high concrete wall.  There were two armed guards at the gate, but they recognized the car and had the gates opened right away, so that Rostov could be driven right on through.

Within the compound he discovered an entirely new world of sprinklers playing over lush green lawns, and uniformed gardeners tending to the dazzling flowerbeds.  As the car pulled up outside the entrance to a grand, colonial mansion white gloved servants hurried to open the passenger door, greet Rostov, and lead him to a cool airy suite of rooms.  Where heavy shutters kept the sun at bay while a ceiling fan provided a cooling breeze.

An hour later, once he’d showered, changed and finished a light lunch, perfectly prepared to his exact specifications, Andre Rostov was ready to meet his host.  He was led downstairs, back across the entrance hall to the door for a private office. 

The office was spartan, functional, and as befitted the personality of its owner, contained more than a hint of military efficiency.  The large desk, gleaming with polish, held nothing beyond an old-fashioned blotter, a pen and pencil desk set, a phone, and a single photo in a silver frame. A Russian flag stood on a wooden stand in a corner.  The wall behind contained bookshelves racked with volumes of military history.  Another wall contained an array of framed medals, awards, and commendations.

General Lukin sat behind the desk, wearing a business suit, crisp white shirt, and dark-red tie.  He sat erect, and he wore the suit as one might wear a uniform.  He was writing with a fountain pen, and the scratch of the nib filled the otherwise silent office.  He had been informed that Andre Rostov had arrived earlier.

As Lukin waited for Rostov to make his way to the office he contemplated the casualty reports he was working on and the upcoming mission.  How many more of his men would have to die before this was over.  The General had a stringent sense of responsibility and unwavering loyalty.  The Russian army had provided the former while HYDRA had brought the latter. 

Almost overnight, Lukin had gone from living in a barracks and making a few rubles a month to a life of mansions, private jets, and runway models.  It had been more than any son of a poor farmer from the rural north could ever have dreamed of.  Now, though, he recognized it as the Devil’s bargain that it was.  He had thousands of men all counting on him to get them home alive, if possible.

The General glanced up as Rostov entered.  He sat motionless, for another few seconds, then pushed his writings aside and rose from his chair.

“Comrade Rostov, I trust you had a pleasant trip.”  The General greeted the other man politely.

Rostov waved the pleasantries aside as he took a seat.  The leather groaning under his bulk.  “It was pleasant enough.  Has the Doctor arrived?”

“Only Just.  He will join us in a few moments.”

“I trust that you have made the arraignments I have requested?”

“I have.”  Lukin replied curtly.  Not bothering to hide his skepticism with the upcoming operation. 

Your men in Belarus are in no real danger General.”  It infuriated Rostov that Lukin would question him.  But like with a stray dog, the occasional scrap had to be thrown from the table.  The soldiers were unimportant, they could be replaced.  But the General did not like when his men were killed off, in his opinion, unnecessarily.

The world, Rostov firmly believed, was one never ending chess match, and he was the one playing it how he pleased.  He poked and prodded to move his pieces to places he found desirable.  The defiant ones who resisted him he simply removed from the board.  General Lukin needed to understand that the soldiers were Rostov’s pawns, not his.  If he proved too resistant to Rostov’s edicts, he would find himself removed from the game entirely.

Rostov’s musings about the General were interrupted when a sharp knock sounded on the door and Dr. Faustus was shown into the office.  General Lukin’s entire body stiffened, but  he offered the Doctor a polite Greeting.  Rostov simply nodded to the Doctor, impatient to get the meeting underway.  He had other pressing matters to attend to.  Lukin walked over to a sideboard and poured all of them a drink. 

Thank you.”  Dr. Faustus said as he sat in the empty chair next to Rostov, accepting the bourbon Lukin offered him.  While Faustus had been warned Rostov would be at the meeting, he hadn’t been told what they were to discuss.  Not that it was difficult to guess.  When Rostov showed up in person, it meant that the information was too sensitive to transmit over even heavily encrypted lines.  “Can I assume you’re here to discuss the upcoming Belarus operation?”

Rostov nodded, but Lukin decided to exercise a bit of curiosity.  “Before we start, Doctor, why don’t you tell us what happened in Syria.”

“Syria went as planned.  The serum has now been administered to Natalia as well as the Winter Soldier.”

“That is all that happened?”  Lukin asked, slyly.  Knowing full well that coming in direct contact with the Black Widow this early in the operation had not been part of the plan.  But the Doctor had been unable to resist the chance to speak with his pet project.

Faustus eyes flitted nervously around the expanse of the office before replying. “I had a brief conversation with Natalia while she was in our care.”

“And?” Lukin queried, raising one of his eyebrows. 

“Natalia is precisely how I expected her to be, guarded, defiant and already protective of the Winter Soldier.”  Faustus paused to take a drink and briefly considered the rest of his response before continuing. “To Natalia the walls of her prison are invisible, and she believes herself to be free.  She must continue to believe this now that she is with the Soldier. That she is not free must remain apparent only to us.”

“You took a risk Doctor.  A risk that I did not give permission for.”  Rostov said, sipping his bourbon while he appraised the man.

“It was a calculated but necessary risk to determine how best to proceed with her.”

“And what did you determine?”  Rostov asked.

“That some, but not all, of her programming is intact.”  Faustus replied.  “We must be careful not to trigger an Omega level response from either of the assets.  It will do us no good if either the Winter Soldier or Natalia commit suicide or kill the other before we are done with them.”

Rostov brushed the comment aside with a dismissive wave of his hand.  One of the risks in any kind of psychological warfare, was it could be too effective, and send the target into a paranoid tailspin.  That paranoia could be useful... or deadly.

“If you believe this to be a possibility then why are we wasting time doing this.’  Lukin plucked his cigar from his mouth and ground it out in the ashtray.  “Capture them both and reprogram them.  We will simply keep them separated from each other.”

“Then we risk losing one or both of them again.”  His eyes hardening, Lukin explained with more than a little impatience.  Just as he had years ago when the affair between the Soldier and Natalia had been discovered.  

Dr. Faustus had argued with General Karpov back then that their feelings could be exploited.  Used against them to ensure their continued loyalty and compliance.  That with the right conditioning The Winter Soldier and Natalia could together be turned into an unstoppable force, their allegiance to their handlers unmatched.

But Lukin had sided with Karpov and Madam B and the memories of both Natalia and the Soldier had been erased.  Buried deep under layers of false memories, lies and torture.  The memories of each other and the Winter Soldier’s time in the Red Room had been meticulously protected with fail-safes.  These Fail-safes had been used on both of them.  Guarded by triggers that could have disastrous consequences.  

Faustus knew that if they went too fast, if they pushed too hard, one of those fail-safes could be triggered in either one of the assets.  One of those triggers had already been the catalyst for Natalia’s violently bloody escape from the Red Room.

“Enough!  We will proceed as planned.”  Rostov barked.  Silence descended upon the room.  He made eye contact with each of the other men to ensure they understood he would tolerate no more of their arguing.  “We are looking to topple entire governments, bring chaos on to the world so that we may restore order.  Our order.  For that, we will need both of them.”  He let his eyes drift to the view of the garden outside the window.

He wanted the weak weeded out.  And anyone that would stand against him destroyed entirely.  Rostov’s mother had believed that symbolism was a reflection of the Divine and that HYDRA’s teachings was one of its forms.  That HYDRA’s doctrine when viewed through the lens of symbolism, contained incredible revelations.  His favorite lesson as a youth had been the one about the Gardener.  The fundamental metaphor of the lesson as it related to the world was the garden.

It made clear the relationship between gardening and genocide: He who leaves the plants in a garden untended will soon find that the garden is overgrown by weeds and that even the basic character of the plants has changed.  If therefore the garden is to remain the breeding ground for the plants.  the forming will of a gardener is necessary, a gardener who, by providing suitable conditions for growing, or by keeping harmful influences away, or by both, carefully tends what needs tending and ruthlessly eliminates the weeds that would deprive the better plants of nutrition, air, light, and sun.  That the world could never be at peace unless there was one and only one gardener to tend it.

His mother had imbued in him a sense of awe and, most important, of respect for how HYDRA’s plan guided all things.  It was this awe and wonder that guided him in his goals today.  He would be the world’s gardener.  One of the things he was most certain of, there was nothing greater than HYDRA’s cause.  His belief was consistently fortified by the weakness and ignorance of the rest of the world.

Rostov turned his attention back to the other men.  He wanted to get the meeting back on track.  “Are we prepared to begin tightening the noose around the Soldier and the Widow?”

“Yes.  Soon their friends will begin to question who they really are and if they can be trusted.”  Lukin replied.

“Captain Rodgers will not be so easily convinced.”  Rostov countered.

“The Captain will be the easiest of them all.  He is weighed down by guilt, still trapped in his past.  As he did with Stark, he will choose the Winter Soldier over Natalia.”  Faustus responded with confidence.  “We have already begun to plant the seeds of doubt about Natalia within him.”

“And how does that help our cause?  Lukin asked as he retrieved the cigar from his desk and relit it.

“Because when Rodgers forces the Winter Soldier to make a choice, he will choose Natalia over the Captain.  Once his memories are fully restored the Winter Soldier will always choose Natalia.”

“And what will the Black Widow choose?  Her views on the world and her place in it have changed.”  Rostov interjected.  While he had no doubt the Winter Soldier could easily be brought back under control.  They did after all have his trigger words as a contingency plan.  The Black Widow had been operating of her own free will for much longer.

Dr. Faustus bristled at the implication that he would not succeed.  His hand tightening around his glass, but he kept his expression neutral.  Rostov really did not understand the power the Doctor held.  With just his voice he could force people to see things that weren’t really there, hear voices that weren’t actually speaking.  Do things they didn’t want to do.  He had used this power on Natalia just a few days earlier in Syria.  If he wanted, he could use it on Rostov as well.

The Doctor took a slow sip of his bourbon, savoring the flavor, and pondered how to answer him.  “Yes, Natalia has changed.  But as I said some of her triggers are still in place and we can use those.  Once her memories are restored, at the very least, she will protect the Winter Soldier with her own life if necessary.  Whether any other feelings for him rise to the surface remains to be seen.”

“Very good.  As long as you are certain you can deliver on what you promised Doctor, I see no need for this discussion to continue.”  Rostov said coldly, before turning his attention to General Lukin.  “You have concerns regarding Belarus, General?”

Lukin, removed his cigar, inspected it, then took a long pull from it as he calculated what to say.  “I’m concerned about working with a local gang of arms dealers.”

“They have strong local knowledge and are willing to die to ensure you accomplish your goal.”

“I’m sure we can assume that the Black Widow and The Soldier will have reasonable knowledge of their operating environment as well.  Further they’re extraordinarily well trained and have a lengthy history of carrying out successful operations.”

“I selected these men personally.”  Rostov said, the anger starting to creep into his voice.  “Not only for their skill, but for their commitment to the mission.”   It was, of course, a complete lie.  Rostov had selected them because they couldn’t be traced back to him.  And they were expendable.  Their skill or lack thereof was a secondary consideration at best.

“The Widow and The Winter Soldier, though, are different.  They’re not afraid.   They’re as knowledgeable as anyone alive about the group you are trying to use to blind them.  More knowledgeable than even you, perhaps.”

“You overestimate them, Lukin. The Widow is hemmed in by the increasing dysfunction of the Avengers and The Soldier is nothing more than an assassin.  Gifted in their realms admittedly, but hardly sophisticated enough to understand the forces at work here.”

“Natalia is many things, but stupid is not one of them.”  Dr. Faustus interjected.  Why he put himself in the middle of Rostov’s conversation with the General he didn’t know.  It would only serve to draw Rostov’s ire toward him.

Rostov had anticipated the criticism and managed a respectful nod.

“Thank you for involving yourself personally.”  Lukin said, knowing there was nothing to be gained from further discussion.  “I understand the demands on your time.”

“Not at all, General.  I have no priorities more important than the well-being of our men.”  Rostov held up a hand to silence the man.  “You reviewed the information I sent?”

“Only in a very cursory way.”  Lukin responded.

“I, on the other hand, have gone through it in great detail.  I think you will be quite satisfied by the plan, General.” Rostov replied, crisply.

Lukin felt sure that was undoubtedly meant to be more confidence inspiring than it actually was.  Rostov was a genius at manipulating people but had no real operational experience.  He’d embellished the handful of years he’d spent with the Russian Military into something straight out of an American adventure film but the reality was quite different.   He’d been responsible for spying on dissidents and ordering the occasional assassination of political agitators. 

“I am sure you are correct Comrade.”  Lukin said, respectfully.

“You seem reticent, General.  Is this simple task beyond you?  Is this to be the first time you fail?”

“If so, it would be the only time I have done so.”

“Very good.” Rostov said. “Confidence is desirable, but arrogance is the refuge of fools.  And again, I am taking the involvement of your men seriously.  I understand the risks to your men and I’ve taken steps to mitigate those risks.”

Lukin nodded respectfully but couldn’t bring himself to thank the man.  His men were nothing to Rostov, a tool, to be used and discarded the moment it became convenient to do so.  “Do you have a sense of how you want this to play out?”

Rostov smiled for the first time in their meeting.  “We will allow the attack on the base in Belarus to proceed.  Our local force will be the secondary wave.”

“So we are drawing them into a second trap after the first?”  Faustus asked.

“It is a bit like throwing a net over a bear, yes?” Lukin said, despite knowing that Rostov was not interested in his opinions or objections.  “Again, I have to wonder if it would not be possible to step back for a few weeks.”

At this Faustus shook his head no.  “The serum has already been administered to the both of them and its effects will only last for a short time.  We will not get another chance to get so close.  No, we must begin to make them remember their history as soon as possible.”

Lukin sighed heavily, then nodded his head curtly.

Rostov drained the bourbon from his glass then rose from his chair, indicating that the meeting was at an end.  “Then gentlemen I suggest you finish your preparations.  And hope you are more successful than Valeria was.”  The threat was clear in his voice.  “I have other pressing matters to oversee.  The other phase of this operation cannot be left unattended.”

Lukin and Faustus both assented, but neither returned Rostov’s gaze.

With that, Rostov quietly exited the office.  Knowing full well the other two would talk about him in earnest now that he had departed.  They were fully aware of what had happened to Valeria Markoff and now knew they weren’t as untouchable as they had imagined.  “Good.”  He thought to himself, “let them speak in whispers about me amongst themselves.”  Let them lie awake at night wondering if his young Comrade was just outside their door.  If it was their turn to face him.


	13. Royal Fork

**Safe House - Belarus.**

James dropped to the floor and brought his legs up onto the small kitchen table, he sat up, quietly counting out each sit-up as he went.  He’d done so many in the past two days that they were becoming second nature—almost like breathing.  Somewhere past number eighty and before number ninety, James began feeling some serious ill will toward Romanoff. 

He wanted to wrap his hand around the woman’s throat and squeeze, but that would require knowing where the hell she was.  As soon as they’d reached the safe house in Belarus she’d taken off, telling him she’d needed to reach out to some contacts.  That had been two days ago.  And the last he’d heard from her.  Which meant James had spent two days grinding his back teeth into powered, wondering if he’d been played.  Or was overreacting. Or was a complete idiot for trusting her.  James couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on a collision course.

As an assassin, he’d spent a lot of time alone...it came with the job.  He was trained to make the most of it, plan his next move, go over his intel, review his training.  But, after you'd cleaned your gun thirty times, and reviewed the past tense of every verb in five languages, you started itching to make a move. 

Lying flat on his back, James glanced around the apartment.  It had two bedrooms and a bathroom, a small kitchen was set off the living room area.  The place was raw exposed brick with heavy timber beams secured to sturdy iron brackets.  The floors were wide plank, more than likely oak, stained to add a little brightness to the place.  The furniture was utilitarian, grays and blues.  When he and Romanoff had arrived, the kitchen had already been fully stocked with food. 

At the sound of the doorknob turning James grabbed his Glock off the floor beside him and had to blink several times as Romanoff strode in.  She wore a blond wig with green streaks running through it.  He drew a shallow breath as he took in the rest of her.  Was it his imagination or had the oxygen been sucked out of the room? 

She was standing in the doorway a sexy cropped motorcycle jacket, covering the oh-so-feminine parts of her delectable anatomy. Underneath fishnet from top to bottom.   beneath the mesh was a black bra with swirls of red.  On her smooth rounded hips, a barely-there strip of red suede that could probably be identified loosely as a skirt.  She turned and shut the door and James noticed that, unlike the skirt, there was nothing loose about her shapely backside, nicely curved and tight.  Completing the outfit, a silver belt nipped her waist and she wore a pair of edgy black cowboy boots with heels.  But the kicker was the strip of black leather around her neck with spikes. 

It conjured up the image of bondage and submission, but there was nothing at all submissive about Romanoff.  He supposed, to her, it was a simple necklace.  It none the less was turning him on.  He drew in a ragged breath, reminded himself he was pissed off at her, and went back to doing his sit-ups without saying a word to her.  He couldn’t speak.  Not until he was sure his next words to her were going to be “Where the fuck have you been?”  Instead of, “bedroom now.”

Especially since they were never going to go there.  Ever.

Natasha sauntered into the apartment pulling the wig off her head and dropping it along with the backpack she’d been carrying on the table.  Her brain felt numb after spending the last two days with some of the biggest idiots of the criminal underworld.  But as a spy some of her most useful contacts were the small-time drug dealers.  Their work demanded that they stay informed about their rivals, their suppliers, the police, and any other bad guys that might be operating in their territory.

She now had a full layout of the military base they were there to shut down and all of the guard and troop movements taking place there.  Plus, confirmation that it was indeed HYDRA.   So, the two days of eating nothing but potato chips and doughnuts, while trying to avoid getting a contact high had been worth it.

“God I’m starving!”  She said as she pulled the pins out of her hair and let it fall free around her shoulders.  “What is it about drug dealers and never having any real food around?”

Natasha paused as she took a good look at Barnes.  His deep blue eyes looked…intense.  Intense and hard and—how predictable was this?—pissed.  “Great.” Natasha thought to herself.  After two days of dealing with ten different renditions of Dopey, she’d returned to the safe house only to find Grumpy was home.

Natasha bent over and snapped her fingers in Barnes’ face as he came up for another sit-up. “Hello, anybody home?”  She asked. 

All she got was a grunt in response.  Well more like a growl.  Yep, pissed.  It wasn’t all that hard for her to figure out why either.  But honestly taking him with her would not have been a good idea.  She needed to take the reins on this before it got out of hand.  She was the spy, which meant from time to time she’d disappear on him.  Barnes could just put his big girl panties on and deal with it.

Natasha hopped up onto the table and sat down in a lotus position on James’ legs.  Elbows on her knees, her hands propping up her chin.  She studied him, he was hours past a five o’clock shadow and a muscle ticked in his jaw.  “Do we have a problem Barnes?”

James kept his eyes hooded as he continued doing sit-ups, counting them out.  “One hundred and forty-six.”

Natasha mentally rolled her eyes.  “How dare you ignore me after I’ve made zero attempts to contact you.”

James stopped and propped himself up on his elbows.  His angry gaze trapping hers.  “You. You’re my problem.  We’re supposed to be partners.  I go where you go.  Remember?”

“You would have been in my way.  I wanted the local dealers to think I was looking to do a little partying, get some info from them. Not worry I would have you break their kneecaps.” Natasha explained.  What was it with him and always having a problem with her doing her damn job?

“And if HYDRA had attacked you?”

“I can take of myself.  I don’t need or want a babysitter.  And I didn’t need you with me for this Barnes.”

James gave her a menacing look.  One that usually had seasoned soldiers backing down and subordinates scrambling to do as he ordered.  Natasha however, looked unimpressed.  James held his palm up “Here’s my cup of care,” flipping his hand over he continued “Oh look, It’s empty.  We stay together, no splitting up.  Non-negotiable.”  

“Excuse me?” Natasha asked, in a voice so low it came out a hiss.

At her tone, James’ piercing blue eyes flashed a disturbingly intense combination of anger and determination.  Reflecting the fact that he’d seen the worst of the worst and was capable of fighting it with his bare hands.  Natasha got that the edge of danger and testosterone coming off of him in waves attracted women like ants to a picnic, but at the moment she wanted to stomp on his size thirteen Bates.  Especially after he repeated himself.  

“Non-negotiable.”

“Wrong.  I do what I need to, to get the job done.  You are along for the ride.  My party.  Remember?”  Natasha wanted to strangle the man but she wasn’t sure her hands would fit around his thick neck.  Non-negotiable her ass.

“Christ the woman is obstinate.”  James thought.  He blew out a breath and, with it, quite possibly the last of his patience.  “Wrong. Not after that mess in Syria.  We. Stay. Together.”  He ground out making each word a pointed sentence.

“What part of in my way was unclear?  Christ, I swear talking to you is like talking to a really good looking, mildly stupid brick wall.”

Natasha closed her eyes and inhaled deep for calm.  No calm came.  When she opened them again James had an unreadable expression on his face.  He looked at her for a minute without saying anything, then he swung his legs up in the air sending Natasha flying across the room.  His patience gone.  He jumped up to his feet and swung around to face her.

 Natasha landed with an easy roll and swung around herself.  “What the hell is wrong with you?”  Her green eyes had daggers coming out of them, her hands clenched.  Which wasn’t going to be good for his health, a fact he seemed blithely unconcerned with. 

In fact, as she moved toward him, he leaned back against the table, legs casually crossed, body language deceptively calm.  A tiger at rest.  He wore faded jeans that fit him in all the right places and a soft-looking blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest like it was made for him.  She was close enough to him that she felt an intangible thing happen, an undeniable pull of his personal force field.

It was a combination of the intensity of his personality, the power of his will, and the focus of his attention.  Shocking her with the force of her own attraction to him.   She took a step back before she threw her arms around his neck and it wouldn’t be to strangle him.  Her mind went blank.  And suddenly she couldn’t remember why the hell she was angry with him.

“Why so hostile, Kotehok?”  James asked, a cocky smile curving his mouth.

“You threw me across the room!”

He shrugged a broad shoulder. “You deserved it.”

“Moment over.” Natasha thought, seething.  That did it.  Natasha glared at him, biting back choice words. This was really getting out of hand now, and good looking or not, the arrogant SOB was really pissing her off.  “Don’t kill him, Natasha.  Keep it professional.”  She told herself. 

James appreciated all beautiful things.  As Natasha stood before him poised, scrutinizing every inch of him.  Liable to strike him.  He thought she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen in his life.  She didn’t step away from intimidation or danger she walked up to it.  The woman was impenetrable.  And she didn’t like being questioned, he knew that much.  But he also knew the only way to deal with her was to hold his own.

 “Is there ever a time you’re not an arrogant bastard?”  Natasha ground out through clenched teeth.

“Is there ever a time you’re not a difficult bitch?”

“No.”

“Then I guess that makes us perfectly matched, now doesn’t it?”  James returned her glare and didn’t flinch.  Staring her down, jaw tilted and locked.  “You’re a target.  We’re both targets.  Not staying together is a dumbass play.”  

“I’m going to explain this to you, but not because you’re getting all hot and alpha bothered.”  Natasha stated, her voice ice.  “The idiots I just spent the last two days with are minor players in the crime scene.  They avoid trouble like it’s the ebola virus.  I needed to appear as unthreatening as possible.”  She raked her gaze up and down James.  “You,” she pointed at him, “look like a cross between an enforcer for Al Capone and a bulked-up Jason Bourne.”

James was undeterred by her argument. Partly because he didn’t know who the hell Jason Bourne was, but mostly because he was tired of her disappearing act.  Okay. Maybe he’d gone a little too far by throwing her across the room.  But fuck, the woman couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of teamwork.  Arguing with her, however, was like trying to solve a crossword puzzle after being given the wrong clues.

“And we couldn’t have gotten this intel just as easily on our own?”

“That's not how it works. If somebody is doing something off the radar they don't hand out decoder rings, and plans to their mountain fortress.  So why risk one or both of us being spotted doing surveillance when there was no need.”  Natasha replied, with a professional calm she absolutely wasn’t feeling at the moment.

Seeing Barnes’ dark expression Natasha walked around him and pulled all the information she’d managed to gather out of her backpack, tossing it on the table for him. 

James pushed off from the table and turned around, going through all the documents Romanoff had with increasing incredulity.  She not only had drone pictures of the base, but guard schedules and troop movements, complete blueprints to their power grids and security.  Along with all this was a list of the weapons the soldiers carried, and another list of all the artillery that had been brought onto the base. 

He realized the intel she’d managed to get in two days from her contacts, would have taken the two of them weeks if they’d started from scratch.  He glanced up at her and saw an I’ll-take-that-apology-now expression across her face.  James sighed heavily.  Step one, accept she may have been right.  Step two, hide all the knives, guns, and maybe even the pillows too.  Step three, and this stung, apologize. 

“This is God damn impressive for only two day’s work.” James told her.

“You suck at apologies.  But I'll accept it on one condition."  She folded her arms across her chest.

“What?"

"You trust me.  You trust that I won’t just walk and leave you to figure things out for yourself."

he cocked his head to the side. "I trust you, Romanoff."

"No, you don't."  She walked over to the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator.  Pulling out the leftover spaghetti James had made the day before.  She grabbed a fork and took a bite.  James watched as Natasha chewed slowly and painfully, swallowing tentatively.

It took all of her skills to look intrigued instead of disgusted.  “It's very unique," she said.  Note to self, never let Barnes do the cooking.

James snorted.  “It’s God awful and we both know it.  But thanks for trying to not stomp on my fragile ego.”  

At this it was Natasha’s turn to snort.  She threw the spaghetti away and turned to rummage through the kitchen for something else to eat. 

James took a handful of jellybeans and put them in his mouth, looking over the set of photos Romanoff had laid out on the table.  The light in the small apartment just good enough to make out small details.  “This seems very lightly guarded.”  He said to her.

“There aren’t nearly as many men as you would expect.”  She replied, before popping an orange slice in her mouth.  “They’re not very spread out though, because the buildings are packed in so tight.  They’re pretty mobile too.  About a minute of travel time between each guard post.”

“What about Belarusian soldiers?”

“None at the base.  But police and military are stationed at the larger plaza and on most major intersections.   The presence isn’t heavy though.  Just a show of force.” 

“Do they know we’re here?” James asked. 

“No, and let’s keep it that way.”                                                                                                                            

James nodded in agreement.  While Romanoff may have pissed him off immeasurably with her disappearing act, right now she radiated professionalism.  And she seemed a lot less angry with him.  Not exactly friendly, because it was still Romanoff.  But at least he could tell she wouldn't try to kill him in his sleep now.  They spent the next several hours devising their plan for taking down the base.  Maintaining an uneasy truce with each other. They worked late into the night, until Natasha called a halt to it by telling James they both needed to get some sleep. 

Natasha woke, breathing hard, blinking rapidly. And she knew instantly, the wedding photo she’d been studying before going to bed had caused her to have a nightmare.  She snapped on the bedside lamp and laid there silently, trying to call up any images from her dream.  Fragments floated before her eyes. 

_Her head snapping back followed quickly by another punch. “Do you have a death wish?” a man asked her.  The voice scary quiet._   _“I would rather see you destroyed than see you free or in the possession of another, so I suggest you not try me, or you will suffer as no earthly creature has.”_   _He slammed her against the wall._   _“Or ever will.”_

_A man lunged at her, wrapped both of his hands around her neck, cutting off the air in her throat, and whispered in a deadly voice, “Love me.”_

_Shoved up against a wall, kissed roughly.  More for punishment than pleasure.  Knocking the man to the ground._

She couldn’t recall any of the faces from her dream.  But she tried.  Pain.  Pain so intense it felt like she was being ripped in two lanced through her.  Her brain feeling like it was being attacked simultaneously by a wrecking ball and a pack of hyena’s.  Fury lit Natasha, and it seemed to intensify the pain in her head.  She drew in long slow breaths, willing her muscles to relax.  Forcing the memories away.  The Red Room had buried these memories deep.  Natasha knew, with a resignation born from experience, that incidents like the dream would increase with regularity the more she delved into the wedding picture and what it meant to her.

Outside lightning flashed, followed immediately by a boom of thunder.  Natasha’s bedroom light flickered once, twice.  An electrical surge, she thought dizzily, the pain in her head starting to recede.  Natasha heard Barnes’ scream as the light flashed out again.  And stayed out.  She grabbed her glock from under her pillow and sprinted to his room.

_His brain is on fire.  Burning. Melting._

_The sun bakes him, blazing hotter than a star gone nova.  The desert air so intense that it blisters his skin.  His mouth so dry that he can’t swallow.  Can hardly breathe._

_He glances through dark glasses at the two men behind him.  Both look like him— Camouflage pants and armless shirts, heavy boots and helmets, carrying holstered pistols and K-bar knives and submachine guns.  The mission went off as planned.  They’d found the camp in the maze of caves and they’d routed the villagers trying to hide from the Afghani Guerillas out of safety.  Killing all of them._

_The American military would take the blame for the slaughter._

_Still, he has to be vigilant.  The enemy could be anywhere…waiting…He senses danger like bugs crawling over him.  One misstep and they’re dead men._

_Circling, he moves back against a rock until their carefully sheltered Humvee comes into sight.  Peering around the vehicle, he sees no indication that the enemy is anywhere within shooting distance.  The American snipers could be positioned anywhere up in those rocks above them._

_Sweat trickles down his spine as he signals the other men.  Though their all equipped with radios and headsets, he figures better to keep from making a sound.  He indicates they should go back to the truck.  He’ll cover them and bring up the rear._

_He raises his MP-5, ready to trigger the submachine gun at the slightest movement, at the smallest hint of light reflected off an enemy’s weapon.  The seasoned guy goes first._

_Trigger-finger tense, James turns this way and that.  Vigilant as his comrade goes for the driver door.  He signals the other one.  The youngest in their unit.  His darkened skin is ashen, but if he’s afraid that’s the only sign._

_Running for the vehicle the man stops.  He turns to him and sees a kid no more than eight heading for the truck.  The kid takes a fatal step, explodes like a piñata.  Instead of candy and toys his body bursts into bits of flesh and bone._

_And blood.  Pink mist._

_Covered with the kids remains, James runs for the Humvee.  He throws himself into the passenger seat, the child’s tortured-sounding screams ringing in his ears.  The vehicle takes off throwing him hard back against the seat.  He closes his eyes against the carnage._

_His brain is on fire.  Burning.  Melting.  He fights back the flames._

_Only to have a second sound open his eyes._

_An explosion throws a wall of heat at him.  Amid rubble and smoke a woman lies face down at his feet, unconscious or possibly dead.  He’s terrified to find out which.  Not the kid.  Not in the mountainous desert.  A different place.  A different explosion.  A different victim…No.  A comrade._

_Suddenly James felt like he was being hurled through space and time.  He was in a room.  A lab._

_His head ached. he was thinking of the pain, and wondering how it was possible for physical agony to be so intense. He had never imagined that such a torture could be endured._   _Yet here he was, both conscious and able to think clearly. And not only to think, but to observe the process. The steel circle round his skull was closing in with faint cracking noises. How much farther could it shrink? He counted the cracking sounds.  Welcoming the emptiness, it would bring._

Natasha sat down on the side of Barnes’ bed.  Her gaze on him wary, ready to move if the need arose.  Recalling that she’d damn near killed Clint once when he’d woken her from a nightmare.   “You’re Okay.  Barnes, wake up.  You’re having a nightmare.”

With a gasp, James jackknifed in the bed, grabbed her hand, hauled her across him, and looked into concerned green eyes.  “Romanoff?”

“You were making terrible sounding noises.”  She reached out and touched his face with a gentle hand. “Can I get you something?”  She asked, looking lovely as a hint of lightening from the window dappled her features.  “Tea?  Water? Vodka?”

“You.”  James thought, biting down hard on his tongue to keep the word from slipping out.  He shook his head no and tried to pull away from her touch.  A purely instinctual move because while his body knew how badly it wanted her, his brain was all too aware that it was a colossally stupid move of the highest order.  And wouldn’t fix a damn thing.

James closed his eyes as a boom of thunder sounded from outside.  An inner explosion took place inside his head.  He couldn’t breathe.  Even closing his eyes couldn’t erase the image of another senseless death heaped on dozens of others he’d caused.  Something in his face must have alerted Natasha to how shaken he was feeling.

“It’s all right, you’re safe.”  She soothed, running her fingers through his hair.  “HYDRA will never control you again.  We’ll make sure of it.”

For James, it was as if she knew what was happening inside him.  Knew how wild he felt.  How overwhelmed.  It felt like she’d thrown a life preserver in a raging sea.  It was too much for James.  Her knowing touch, her understanding.  His expression was more than a little desperate now.  He lost his grip, his world literally falling apart around him.  Everything he’d been holding inside since his memories had started to return assaulting him.

James’ eyes stared without seeing, the ghosts of his past etched on his face.  Guilt was pressing on him, and he couldn't breathe.  He gave in to the pure pain and pure surrender.  for a moment, there was total silence; that totally silent part of a cry that announces that the most horrible grief is going to follow. And it did, suddenly he was sobbing tearless, broken sobs.

All Natasha could do was be there for him.  A solid calming presence in a world that could rip you apart.  Like Clint used to do for her.  She offered no empty platitudes, no promises of “it’ll be okay” or “you’ll be fine.”  Because she knew, more than anyone else, just how not okay the world could be.  She just held onto his hand, while he rode out the storm of his guilt and pain. 

The worst type of crying wasn't the kind everyone could see--the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes.  No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it.  A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like her and Barnes, their souls contained more scar tissue than life.

She kept holding his hand, sitting quietly beside him.  Waiting to see if Barnes could hold on to that last piece of his heart and soul and keep it safe from complete annihilation.  Slowly the sobs subsided and his body stopped shaking.  It still looked like the strength of him had just been sapped away.  But the pain, the unbearable pain disappeared from his face.

James froze, his eyes locked on Romanoff’s, wondering how she felt about seeing a grown man cry. 

Natasha simply stared back at him.  Her expression calm, understanding.  No condemnation, no judgment.  She understood all too well the guilt Barnes was carrying.  And she knew it could eventually tear him apart if he let it and didn’t release some of it.  If he didn’t deal with what he was feeling about his past. 

James leaned back, eyes on the ceiling, exhausted to the bone, very aware of her gaze on him.  His expression was calm now, almost detached.  "You ever care so much you felt as though you would bleed to death with the pain of it?”

“It doesn't get better," Natasha said.  Wanting to be honest with him.  "The pain. The wounds scab over and you don't always feel like a knife is slashing through you. But when you least expect it, the pain strikes to remind you that you'll never truly be free from it.”

The pain, the intense, often unmitigated pain, stayed.  It was important to share how she knew survival was survival and not just a walk through the park.  Barnes needed that from her, more than Natasha needed to protect herself.  “It’s never all behind you.”  Natasha continued with a grim finality that had James taking a long look at her. 

James could see volumes of guilt and tempered pain in the depths of her eyes.  He’d had no idea how much of her past she still held deep, how much she still held herself accountable for.

“It was a kid.”  He whispered, his voice as rough as gravel.  “I killed a God damn kid. Christ, I wiped out a whole village of families.”

“So have I.” Natasha replied quietly, steadily.  Her gaze meeting his head on. 

But there was something in her voice, something as fragile as fine porcelain.  Memories of her time with the Red Room and the things she’d done threatening to crush her.  Natasha shook her head hard to dispel them.  Because, as she knew too well, nothing solved insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.

Something protective stirred in Natasha.  She didn’t really think that Barnes should have to be subjected to the ordeal he seemed so willing to take on.  “If you want out Barnes I’ll understand.  You don’t need to put yourself through this.  I can deal with HYDRA on my own.”

She studied him and James steadfastly met her look. “No.  I’m sure as hell not walking away from you.  We do this together.”  He spoke quietly, but firmly, without once taking his eyes off hers.

James was not going to leave her to face this on her own.  Whatever this was.  He’d made himself a promise and he would keep it.  HYDRA would be stopped, and he was going to make damn sure they never got anywhere near Romanoff again.  No, they stayed together.  There was no fucking way he’d leave her side and risk HYDRA taking control of her.

Natasha turned her head away and looked at the wall.  HYDRA was going to keep coming after them.  But if they wanted to get to Barnes they would have to go through her first.  No way in hell was she going to let them take his mind out and play again.  Which meant there was a very good chance she might have to ditch him and go it alone.

“You keep to many secrets.”  James said to her, pushing a lock of her hair out of her face.

Natasha turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes hooded. “A practice that keeps people alive.”

While James had expected the reply, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed by it. 

Natasha studied him for a moment longer, seeing that that he was no longer on the verge of a complete meltdown.  She nodded to herself, then stood and walked around to the other side of the bed.  Telling him, “you need to try and get some sleep.”

“What are you doing?” James choked out, a note of panic in his voice, as Romanoff climbed into bed with him.

“Going to bed.”

“This is my bed.”

“Well, thanks for that intel Captain Obvious.”  Natasha replied as she pulled up the covers. “You weren’t getting any sleep, which means I wasn’t getting any sleep.  Trust me, not being alone will help.”

James was pretty sure having Natasha Romanoff in his bed was going to do a lot of things to him.  Help him sleep, wasn’t one of them.  James dared not move and she didn’t stir either, both staring up at the ceiling.  If he reached over, if he – no.  It was better to keep a small wall between them, to preserve what little progress they’d made in their standoffish, untested relationship.

“Do you think we can be friends?” he asked.

Natasha looked over at him. “Probably not, but we can pretend.”  She replied, needing to put the emotional distance back between them.  She reached out, put her hand over his and went to sleep.

James awoke the next morning to a completely foreign sensation. he laid there, trying to process what was different.  He felt . . . rested.   No lingering darkness from nightmares.  He felt . . . safe.  He had the feeling bad sleepers have when they know they’ve slept well.  As if he’d stolen something and gotten away with it.

It was then he registered the fact that he wasn’t alone in his bed.  Not only was he not alone, but a very female, very soft body was draped across him, his arms protectively around her, one hand cupping her sweet ass possessively.  Her head pillowed on his muscled chest.  Memories from the night before—humiliating memories—crashed through his mind like a landslide.  He’d made an utter ass of himself.  Completely fallen apart on Romanoff.

“Don’t” Natasha mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed.  Not needing to look at him to know what he was thinking or feeling.  “You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares.  Last night you stopped running.”

She was a little surprised to find herself draped across him.  But a quick slide of her foot to the edge of the bed told her he had been the one to move last night, not her.  Natasha shrugged it off.  Because she was absolutely not going to think about how good his hard-muscled body felt beneath her.  Or how long it had actually been since she’d been held like this.

Not going there.  Not ever. 

James remained still, looking down on her.  Very aware her leg was draped across him like she owned him, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against his thigh.  A strand of her silky red hair stuck to the stubble on his jaw.  The scent, some complicated mixture of her and her shampoo, made him want to inhale her.  Maybe it was sheer lunacy that did him in but a smile spread across his face as he buried it in her hair.

“Good morning, Solnechnyy svet,” he said, his smile quickly disappearing in the face of her murderous glance when she raised her face to look at him.

“Shut up and die, morning person.  Coffee.”  Natasha grumbled.

James laughed as he rolled away from her and got out of bed.  A few minutes later he returned with a coffee cup in his hand. “Got you something.”

He lifted the coffee cup out to her and smiled.  Trying hard not to let her see just what kind of morning person he was.  Because damn she looked hot laying there in his bed.  The memory of how good her ass had felt in his hand nearly undoing him. 

Natasha climbed out of bed with easy grace.  James backed up a step to give her room but she kept coming, stopping right in his space, reaching for the cup like a starved man might reach for a promised meal.  Clearly the woman was serious about needing her coffee.  He looked down at her as she took the cup and drank deeply.  He might have drooled a little too.  She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt that barely reached the top of her thighs.

“Thanks.” Natasha said after a long moment.  “Most people won’t come within two miles of me before I’m caffeinated.”

“You need to be a coffee commercial.”  James told her, only half joking.

Natasha smiled up at him.

“Well that’s an evil smile.”

Natasha waved her coffee cup in front of him.  “I’m caffeinated.  Now I’m ready to kick some HYDRA ass.  You ready for this?”

“I’ve got your six.”  James replied.  And he did, he realized.  No matter what happened from here on out he had her back.  Always would.

 


	14. Connected Rooks

Natasha and James waited until nearly midnight to launch their operation against the HYDRA base.  Natasha tried not to think of everything that could go wrong.  One of the biggest things concerning Natasha was that while both she and Barnes were experienced operators, they had no experience operating together.  Natasha reassured herself that while this was a dangerous mission, Barnes was capable of being professional and could be a hard-core lethal badass.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping that the man she’d gone up against in the past was the same man going into this mission with her.  If not, she was screwed.

The flat barren terrain around the HYDRA compound offered no way to approach it without being seen.  The only option was to go in that night.  The moon wouldn’t be up for hours.  It was the only advantage they were going to get.  Though the moonless night gave them the advantage on their approach they stopped their vehicle over two miles from the compound.  The terrain was flat.  There were no hills, no gullies, no place to hide the Land Cruiser.  If not for the pitch blackness caused by the absence of the moon, it would have been like putting up a neon sign announcing their arrival. 

Climbing out of the vehicle and quietly gathering at the rear, they gave their equipment a final check, and crept silently towards the base. 

“Comm Check.”  James said quietly.

“Five by five.” Natasha chuckled.  This was the third comm check he’d done since they’d arrived.  “You worried about me?”

“Maybe.” But James kept that thought to himself.  Instead he told her, “That would be like worrying about a panther in its own habitat.  Queen of the jungle, in charge of her domain.  I’m worried about this mission.  Something doesn’t feel right.”

Natasha couldn’t argue with that, she felt it too. 

James was the dedicated marksman for the operation.  Romanoff had submitted a detailed equipment list ahead of time, and James had gotten everything he’d asked for.  In particular, he’d requested a SOCOM MK-13 sniper rifle,  He wanted a powerful weapon with a solid round that would take care of business in any situation.  Once they arrived at the base he did a quick sweep for any potential threats, then lowered himself to the ground and settled in behind his rifle.

The public face he put forth in no way jibed with the thoughts of retribution that filled his head.  Inside he was a much older man.  A jaded, hard man who was now a trained killer.  He thought again of his conversation with Fury and his new profession.  He was ready.  Eager really, but not in a reckless way.  More methodical perhaps than at any other point in his life.

Once he was in position James radioed Romanoff.  “Negative movement in the compound.”

“Copy.  Rodger that.”  Natasha replied as she made her way to the fence.  Along with the gear Fury had provide was a breacher’s kit.  It should have included a set of bolt cutters, instead all she had was leather-man’s tool.  Natasha took one long look at the gauge of the fence and sighed.  The fence was fabricated with heavy galvanized steel, it took a ton of force to cut through the links.  It was a bitch of a job.

At least once, James could have sworn he saw Romanoff mouth the words Fuck you at him.  He smiled and continued to scan the area for threats.  There were no foot patrols.  In all likelihood HYDRA didn’t think it necessary to post an around-the-clock watch.  Big Mistake.  When Natasha had opened a hole large enough for them to fit through she chucked the tool aside.

James offered her a fist pump, knowing Romanoff’s hand had to be killing her.  Instead of responding in kind Natasha gave him the finger.  James suppressed a laugh, before gathering up his rifle to join her at the fence.  On Natasha’s command they climbed through and took up their positions.  With confirmation from their drone that the coast was clear, Natasha peeked around the corner of a building and then led them forward.

“Where is everyone?” James asked as they made their way further onto the base, unease tightening his stomach.

“I’m wondering the same thing.  There should be guards here.”  Natasha replied, quietly. Something was very off.  It was too still.

In the next instant all hell broke loose.  The flashes from a monster .50 cal machine gun as it spat forward its rounds lite up the sky like lightening. 

“Smoke that bastard!” Natasha shouted over the radio. 

James didn’t wait.  Pressing the trigger, he sent a single stage HEAT warhead sizzling towards its target.  The HYDRA soldier firing the machine gun never saw it coming.  The grenade hit the gun, and it exploded in a fireball.  Flaming pieces of wreckage littered the compound, and a hail of razor-sharp shrapnel rained down as James leapt back and covered Natasha.  “Let’s go!” He ordered.

As they took cover around the corner of a building Natasha asked for a SITREP. 

“There’s two snipers on the roof at our three O’clock.”  James told her.

“Alright I’ll get their attention.” 

Natasha held up her hand and counted down from three, then step back around the corner.  On cue she drew the snipers out.  As soon as the soldiers popped their heads up, James stepped out from around the corner and, with Natasha covering him, shot them both.  But the moment James had gotten his rounds off, another sniper materialized in the window of a different building.

A bullet whizzed past Natasha’s ear.  “Fuck!” She cursed, as James grabbed her by her Tac Suit and hauled her back around the corner. 

“Where the hell did that guy come from?” James asked through gritted teeth.

“Second-story window across the quad.” Natasha replied.  She hadn’t seen the shooter until the flash erupted from the end of his rifle and by then it was too late.

“I’ll cover this time.” James said.

Natasha nodded.  Slinging her rifle, she transitioned to the Russian grenade launcher and racked it, loading a round.  “Just pin him down long enough for me to get off my shot.”

“Hundred bucks says you’ll miss.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and then pointed forward, signaling that she was ready to go.  Together the two of them swung around the corner.  James peppered the building’s second-floor windows with rounds from his MK-13.  Natasha brought the grenade launcher up, sighted the window, and fired.  The shot was perfect.  It sailed straight into the room where the sniper had been and in a blinding flash exploded.  Glass, timber, and pieces of concrete erupted out onto the quad.  A column of thick, black smoke rose into the air. 

“Time to go.” Natasha said, as she switched back to her rifle and scanned the area.  They didn’t encounter any more resistance as they made their way farther into the base.  Natasha felt like she was in the Twilight Zone.  HYDRA never just let her march in and take over.  “Where the hell are the rest of the men?  This is too easy.”

“Gone.  Which makes absolutely zero fucking sense.” James retorted.  He didn’t like the situation any more than Romanoff did.  The base was now like a ghost town.

As they came upon the door for the bases main building Natasha held up a hand and tried the doorknob.  She had lost count of how many times she had been in some of the world’s shittiest, most dangerous places and doors had been left unlocked.  That wasn’t the case here.  Letting her rifle hang against her chest she removed a set of pics from her tac suit and went to work on the lock.  Twenty seconds later. She had it open.  Pulling back the door she stepped aside so Barnes could enter.

Off in the distance an explosion illuminated the night sky.  As Natasha followed Barnes inside she let out a heavy sigh.  “They just blew up our ride.”

James slide his gaze to Natasha’s “So, they’re in full retreat?  Why?”

“Let’s look around and see if we can figure that out.  Oh, and you owe me a hundred dollars.”

James grunted and headed farther into the building.   The place looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry.  Every door was open, except one leading into an office.  Removing her pics, Natasha got to work.  This lock was a little tougher to defeat, but not impossible.  As soon as she had it beaten she nodded at James.  On James’ mark, she opened the door and James slid inside.  Natasha followed him in.

It was a small room stacked with supplies.  A metal desk with two chairs sat on an old Persian rug.  Binders were jammed haphazardly into a cheap wooden bookcase.  Along the far wall were several tall filing cabinets.  Taped to the wall above them was a map of Belarus.  In it, several small pins had been stuck.  James studied the map while Natasha moved the chairs and desk.  Nothing said HYDRA like a trap door. 

She found nothing but the same battered old linoleum tile that ran through the rest of the room.  Taking his eyes from the map, James looked down at the floor beneath his boots.  The tiles there, as best as he could tell through the gray-green of his night vision goggles, looked less worn than the rest of the others.  Crouching, he ran his fingers across the top of them.  At first, he didn’t feel anything.  On his second pass, as he moved more slowly, he felt it.  Two grooves. 

Waving Natasha over he showed her what he’d found.  It took them five minutes to find the release mechanism.  Once they did, there was a click, then a filing cabinet popped away from the wall and revealed a passage behind it.  They moved slowly, at times having to duck or turn sideways to make it through.  Heads scrapped against ceilings, elbows scrapped against walls.  They maintained strict silence, although James wanted to utter a few choice words at times.

At the end of the hallway they found another small room.  This one held only a desk with a laptop on top of it.  Natasha moved closer to the desk and found a flash drive with a note stuck to it.  “Stay away from Alexi.  He’s dangerous, he’ll kill you.”  Natasha read.

James came up next to her and stilled as he saw the note. “That’s my handwriting.  I wrote that.”

“Who’s Alexi?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Well they left this with it.” Natasha said, holding up the flash drive.  She reached down and powered up the laptop.  “Let’s see what’s on it.”  Once the laptop was running Natasha put the flash drive in and checked the files.  Only one, a video.  Natasha hit play.

James watched as he came into view on the screen.  He was in a large training room with a group of young women lined up along a mat.  James slide a look at Romanoff, her face a mixture of anger, hatred, and grief.  A foreboding premonition hijacked his thoughts and sent his mind careening into a place that he did not want to go. 

“I don’t know those women.  Or where that even is.”  James said, tightly.

“I do.” Natasha replied.  “That’s the Red Room.”  Her voice showed that she was keeping an iron grip not on mere anger, but a much colder, deadly emotion. 

To James the room tempeture felt like it had dropped twenty degrees when she spoke.  He hit pause and watched Romanoff closely.  She stilled.  Blinked once.  Not another muscle moved on her body, not a single one.  He wasn’t even sure she was breathing.  After a long beat she composed herself.  Her face neutral.  Switzerland.  It was fascinating really.  James thought himself quite the emotion controller, but Romanoff was the master.  He had no clue what she was thinking or feeling.  And that, James decided, made her the most dangerous person he’d ever met.  

“You don’t have to watch it.” James began.

But Natasha reached out and hit play again.  “Yes, I do.”  This time her voice was completely devoid of any emotion.

_“Shoulders back!  Eyes front and center!” The Winter Soldier ordered, then shook his head and muttered “I don’t have time to babysit.”  He removed his shoes and socks then placed them next to the end of the mat in almost a ninety-degree angle.  Next, he removed his sunglasses and laid them on top of the socks.  Stepping onto the mat he asked “Rules?”_

_“That’s up to you sir.” A blond woman said in reply._

_“The Winter Soldier bent back stretching, and said.  “Since no one is here to comfort you, I suggest we keep this civilized.  Stay away from the eyes and no throat strikes,”_

_“What about choke holds?”  The same blond asked._

_“Absolutely.” The Winter Soldier grinned.  “If you want it to end, all you have to do is tap out.”_

_All the girls shook their heads._

_“Fair enough.  I’ll start with you.”  The Winter Soldier said, pointing to the only girl that had spoken.  The Woman nodded and stepped onto the mat._

_The Winter Soldier began sliding to his right, looking for an angle of attack.  He glimpsed his opening when his opponent made an aggressive head fake that was an obvious tell of what was to follow.  In that moment, he decided to dispatch the kid quickly.  He wasn’t going to waste his time with defensive blocks and holds.  He was going to make the woman feel some real pain.  Maybe break a couple of ribs._

_The Winter Soldier anticipated the girls punch, ducked under into a crouch and came up delivering a blow to the woman’s midsection.  The force was enough to knock the girl clean off the mat and send her sliding across the floor, doubled over in agony and unable to continue.  The same scene played out with each of the women on the video.  All of them failing to land a significant hit on the Winter Soldier and all of them injured in some way.  All though some held out much longer than the first one._

_The Winter Soldier opened the door to the training room and bellowed out. “None of these women are satisfactory for our purpose!  And they need a damn medic.”_

Natasha shut the video off as she watched Barnes go from leveled out to complete shit in ten seconds. The guy wasn't just an emotional roller coaster; he was a whole damned amusement park.  If he didn’t learn how to come to terms with his past it would crush him.

James could feel himself go numb, his breathing coming out in labored rasps.  “I’m a fucking monster.  I did that to those women.”

Natasha turned and looked at him steadily.  “All of those women were highly trained killers. I wouldn’t feel bad about it, they lived.  What I don’t understand is why aren’t Yelena and I there.  We should have been in this video too.”

“Christ, I beat up a bunch of women.  Look at them.”  James took a mental step back.  “Wait….What do you mean you should have been there?”

“That’s the Red Room.  I raised there.  It’s where I was trained to be the killer that I am.  I grew up with those women.  But there are two of us not in that video.”

James sank down onto the floor and clutched his head.  His brain was on fire again, dragging him back down into the raging inferno.  He tried to stop it. 

Natasha crouched down in front of him.  “Listen to me Barnes. They were not innocent woman.  Not a single one of them.  They were all operatives.  Every one of them had already killed multiple times.”

James whole body started shuddering, he panted hard as he fought the nightmares raging in his head.  But the pain, the tearing blackness, the white heat of his uncontrollable fury, the terror that made him run from himself, the sweats and the shakes, and the burning ache in his head, they were all too real.  He could no longer see Natasha or hear her.  At least not the her that was in the Hydra base with him.  What he could see and hear was a much younger Romanoff, no Natalia. 

Her name was Natalia. 

_The Winter Soldier was speaking with Natalia in the training room, they were on the mat preparing to fight.  “Rules?” He asked her just like he had the others.  She would have heard what had happened to the women. So, he would give her the same chance._

_“I’d prefer none, but if you insist.” Natalia replied, calmly._

_The Soldier caught the first glimpse of something he didn’t like.  There was no sign of tension on the woman’s face.  She looked as relaxed as a schmuck who was about to play a game of pool.  Two possibilities presented themselves and he liked neither.  The first was that the woman might not be the naïve girl that he thought, and the second was she might be too stupid to know she wasn’t cut out for this line of work._

_Either way, he would probably have to waste more than a day of his valuable time to drum her out.  Muttering to himself, he realized there may be a third possibility.  That she might actually have the goods.  The potential made the Soldier pause.  He glanced at her and realized he knew very little about the woman standing in the middle of the mat._

_He stood on the mat and stared at her as if silently daring her.  Before she’d barely taken a step, he rushed her, grabbing her around the middle.  Natalia twisted, but couldn’t break his hold or get a position to hurt him.  He threw her over his shoulder dumping her onto the mat.  Her humiliation complete._

_“I expected better.” He said, glaring down at her._

_Natalia sprang up. “What are you waiting for?” She asked when he merely stood there._

_He gave her a ghost of a smile before he took a step towards her.  She was ready for him this time.  With a sweep of her leg, she had him shifting his weight.  Then she sent a punch into his groin while pushing against his chest with her other hand.   Natalia smiled down at him from his position on the floor looking back up at her._

_“I expected better.” She tossed his words back at him._

_The Winter Soldier leapt back to his feet, satisfied.  “Good, keep in mind that you are a weapon.  When you're done with training, you should be able to kick a hole in a wall or knock out a moose with a single punch."_

_"I would never hit a moose," said Natalia. "They're endangered.”_

_The Winter Soldier could feel himself laughing for the first time that he could remember._

Natasha watching Barnes trapped in his flashback pressed her forehead to his. Her hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let them take you from me."

"No. I don't want to..."

She clenched his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me."

James’ pupils contracted to pinpoints, dilated again rapidly, and then returned to something resembling normalcy.  He fisted his hand in Natasha’s hair, without realizing what he was doing and more on an impulse than anything else, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.  It was a simple gesture, and he pulled back after only a moment.  "Always, Talia."  He murmured, then blinked rapidly as his world righted itself again.  

Natasha stilled at the name, then pulled back.  “Are you all right?”

James could barely bring himself to meet Natasha’s gaze.  “You were there.”  He told her, his voice rough with guilt.  “I helped them train you.”

Natasha’s heart clenched hard, but she schooled her features carefully. “I don’t remember you.”

James wonder if anybody else felt this way, if anyone was as haunted as he was. Were they as sad and angry and confused and ashamed? Was that even possible? Was it even possible for him to continue to hold all the pain?  “I remember.  You were there.”

Natasha simply nodded acceptance of his statement and did what she always did, compartmentalized it.  Not his fault, she reminded herself.  He did not deserve her anger or wrath.  And that’s what she would continue to tell herself for as long as she needed to hear it.  Judging by the look on his face, he was punishing himself enough.

After she felt composed again Natasha looked him in the eyes.  “All that is left to bring you pain, are the memories.  You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding from yourself; always afraid that your memories will incapacitate you, and they will if you continue to bury them.”

“We need to leave.” James said suddenly with a sense of urgency.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the change in him.  Yep, whole damn amusement park.  She was going to need a Fastpass to keep up.  “Why?”

“A gut feeling.”  As he’d continued to recover from the flashback, a particular feeling had been nudging him.  James knew it well.  Danger was fast approaching—and he needed to do something.

Since they had agreed to trust each other’s instincts, James wasn’t surprised when she asked, “When?”

“Now.”

Natasha didn’t bat an eye as she tucked the flash drive into her pack, along with the note, and grabbed her weapon.  James did the same then walked to the door peering out it.  Then he slipped through the opening.  Natasha was quick to follow him.  Once they were outside the building James silently led her away from the base, scanning the area for threats as he went. 

Natasha stayed close behind him with a Glock in one hand.   So far, he hadn’t seen any evidence of others approaching, but that didn’t mean anything.  His instincts had told him to leave, and he wasn’t going to question that.  The base being secluded as it was, they walked for a couple of miles without encountering any other buildings.  It wouldn’t be long before they hit the city.

They walked for almost an hour before Natasha asked, “Where are we going?”

“No idea.”

“Wow.  You didn’t even try to lie.”

James slowed so she came even with him.  “There’s no point. You’d have known if I had.”

“Do you have a general direction you’ve headed us in?”

“I had four directions to choose from.  I chose west.”

“For a reason.” Natasha countered.

“James pressed his lips together before sighing.  “We’re getting the hell out of Belarus.”

“Okay.”  She stated, as she adjusted her pack.

He’d expected an argument, but he should have known better.  Romanoff was nothing if not completely professional on the job.  James slid her a sidelong look.  Neither had spoken about what had happened between them, and he had a feeling she never would.  It might be for the best.  Besides, his focus was on making sure HYDRA didn’t ambush them.  Romanoff had been right.  The take down of the base had been too easy.

For the next couple of hours, they made their way west.  When the moon disappeared from the sky James stopped.  “How do you feel about stealing a car?”

Natasha shot him a smile.  “Don’t you mean Borrow?”

James snorted.  “It’s not like we’re going to return it.”

“Works for me.”

“The next town is five klicks away.  We should get there before dawn.  Just enough time for us to find a vehicle and get on the road.”

Natasha grunted in response.  They fell silent as they made their way to the small town.  Just as James expected, there was little movement before dawn.  The few people awake were opening shops or getting an early breakfast.  He took her to a diner with a couple of trucks parked in front of it, but it was the old Škoda parked off to the side of the building that caught James’ eye.

“Wait here.” James ordered in a whisper as he set down his bag and weapons.

Natasha gave him a salute.  Apparently, the alpha male part of Barnes thought he was in charge.  She thought it was amusingly cute so she let him get away with it.

James hunched over and hurried to the car.  Luck was on his side when he tried the handle and the door opened.  He climbed inside and pulled the door partly closed.  Then he reached below the steering column and yanked out the wires.  All he had to do was get the engine started and then they could be on the road.  He glanced up to check on Romanoff and stilled when he saw her talking to someone.

The man had his back to James.  It wasn’t until Romanoff sidestepped, causing the man to turn with her that James saw the gun pointed at her.  It wasn’t fury that filled him, but cold, deadly intent.  He quietly pushed open the car door and slipped out, squatting beside the vehicle while pushing the door closed.  As soon as he moved away from the car, he’d be seen.

James scanned the area trying to determine if the man was alone.  It was still too dark to see if there were others inside the parked vehicles or not.  His gaze landed on the bag with his weapons.  The only thing he had on him was a knife.  He pulled it from its sheath at the back of his waist and prepared to stand when he felt something behind him.

James spun and saw the bear-sized assailant just in time to raise his arm and knock the gun away.  He stood and thrust his knife upwards, aiming for the man’s gut, but the assailant moved to the side and slammed James’ hand against the car.  James elbowed his attacker in the side of the face twice before slamming his foot into the side of the man’s knee.  There was a grunt but his opponent didn’t go down easily.  The man had skills and he was a behemoth of a man.

James slashed with his knife again and again, and each time, the man blocked and evaded him.  A kick came out of nowhere, knocking the knife from James’ hand.  A second man had entered the fight.  James didn’t slow his attack.  The blows happened quickly from each of them.  One vicious blow to his cheek had James tasting blood.  The other two men used whatever they could find to fight.  The battle turned brutal. 

All three of the men realized only one of them would walk away.  James was going to make sure that was him.  He wanted to look over at Romanoff, but to do so might very well be what cost him his life.  He had to trust she could take care of herself.  James managed to get behind one of his opponents and wrap an arm around his neck.  The man elbowed James repeatedly, but he didn’t loosen his hold. 

“Who sent you?”  James demanded.

The man snarled in response.  “Your mother.”

When James was about to question him further he happened to look up and found Romanoff gone.  Without hesitating, he broke the man’s neck.  As the attacker fell to the ground, James grabbed his knife and tossed it into the other man’s throat.  With both men dead James ran to the bags Romanoff had left behind.  He scooped up both by the straps and took off looking for her.

Natasha ran as fast as possible, weaving and zigzagging around anything that would give her cover.  She could feel blood dripping down her arm.  She ignored it.  There were twelve rounds left in her Glock.  Twelve bullets that had to find their targets.  She had no idea how many were after her, so she couldn’t waste a single round.  She turned left intending to get far away from the town.  She couldn’t risk civilians getting hurt so she was moving the fight as far from them as she could.

Her best chance to take out her pursuers was to lose them in the woods.  She didn’t pause until she found a set of trees that she could duck behind.  Natasha closed her eyes for a second and took several deep breaths before peering around the trunks to see how close the men were.   The wound on her arm stung, but she was lucky she had shifted at the last second.  Otherwise, she’d be dead. 

She wondered about Barnes.  When she’d glanced his way, he’d been locked in a very physical battle of his own.  Natasha debated doubling back, then decided against it.  Away from the city, the men would have to fan out to look for her.  It would give her the opportunity to take them out one at a time.  The crack of a limb sounded nearby.  Then the area grew as silent as a graveyard.  They were close.  When she looked back through the trees she counted seven men.

Natasha looked out in front of her, trying to choose her best route.  She didn’t know the region and didn’t want to end up cornered somewhere.  But it wasn’t like she had a lot of time to plan. With a deep breath, she pushed away from the tree and crept forward.  She stayed low, letting the underbrush assist in hiding her.  She methodically and steadily put more distance between her and the town full of innocent people.  She needed to find an area large enough to move around in, but also provided cover in order for her to start taking the men out.

James knelt beside the bags, getting weapons out as he glanced up every few seconds.  He didn’t know what he would be walking into.  He had to be prepared, but he couldn’t lug the bags with him if he wanted to creep up on the man after Romanoff.  Once James was set with weapons, he stashed the bags behind a bush and stood.  The traffic in the sleepy town was getting heavier.  That meant more people would see him.  It was a chance he’d have to take to find Romanoff.

The concrete gave nothing away.  It wasn’t until he saw a drop of blood that he knew he was headed in the right direction.  He refused to think that the blood was Romanoff’s.  Because the idea of her on her own and wounded sent him into an animalistic rage.  He followed the drops of blood in a path that wound around vehicles, garbage cans, and businesses.  It wasn’t until the trail veered off away from the town and into the tree-line that he smiled.

Ten feet into the woodland, he saw a body slumped against a tree with the victim’s chest soaked in blood.  James recognized him as the man that had confronted Romanoff.  He squatted beside the dead man, a white male in his twenties with a tattoo.  Local gang.  Great, Hydra had recruited help.  He surveyed the area, spotting the prints of several large boots.  They erased any evidence of Romanoff.  But he knew she was out there.  Just as he was certain she’d been the one to kill the man.

James crept through the trees on silent feet as he spotted a guard.  The man was well hidden, but not good enough.  James made his way toward the unsuspecting man.  There was a mechanical click, and his target whispered. James paused, listening.  When nothing more was said he moved forward and spotted the headset the man was wearing.  James came up behind him, knife in hand and slit the man’s throat.  As the man bled out James took the headset and rifle before following the trail of boot prints.

Natasha could hear the men gaining quickly.  She spotted a fallen tree ahead of her and ran toward it. As soon as she reached it she vaulted over the massive trunk and landed heavily on the other side.  She turned and lifted her Glock when a face appeared over the trunk, knife raised.  Natasha fell back as she fired off two shots, dead center in the man’s chest.  He slumped lifelessly across the trunk.

There wasn’t time to get up as another reached the tree.  This time, however, she was looking down the barrel of a gun.  She didn’t hesitate to shift her Glock and pull the trigger a heartbeat before her attacker.  Her face turned away as she squeezed her eyes shut when the bullet landed in the dirt a few inches away from her head.  When she looked back, the only thing visible from her position was the man’s foot since he’d fallen back over the other side.

Natasha heard a noise and rolled over onto her hands and knees.  Someone grabbed a handful of her hair from behind and yanked her upper body up, as she remained kneeling.  She winced, clutching the hand that held her. 

“Finally found you, bitch,” the man said angrily. “You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done.”   

He squeezed the wrist of her hand holding her gun, so she had no choice but to drop the Glock or risk having her bone break.  Her other hand reached around to her knife, while he talked.  She slipped the blade out and held it against her arm.

“You actually thought you could outrun us.” He said and turned her toward him.

She looked into his close-set eyes “You’re going to lose.”

“You’ve already lost.” He said with a sneer.

Natasha held his gaze as he tightened his fist in her hair.  The pain shot down from her scalp, but she didn’t move.  One of the things she didn’t believe in was the idea of a fair fight. She was not trained to fight fair. She was trained to win.  Outwardly, she allowed him to believe he was dominating her, showing her who the victor would be.  Then she smiled and smoothly slid her knife between his ribs and right into his heart. 

When his fingers slacked in her hair and his eyes widened as he fell to his knees, she leaned close to his face.  “Who lost, bitch?” Natasha asked in an icy voice.  Natasha heard someone approaching quickly to her left, she grabbed her Glock and pointed it straight at Barnes. 

Who was looking infinitely badass and deadly as hell.  In his black tac suit he was a living, breathing Batman.  Finally! This was the Barnes she’d been waiting to see since he’d shown up in her life and announced he wanted in on her fight with HYDRA.  She knew just how lethal a weapon Barnes was.  Why had he been holding back?  She was curious about his actions but relieved he finally seemed to be on the same page as her.  She’d been about to give up.

“There were seven.”

“Dead.”  James replied in a gruff voice, his gaze raking over her. “You’re hurt.”

Natasha lowered her Glock and Shrugged.  “A graze. I’ll live.  We need to leave.”

James ignored her as stalked to her in long purposeful strides, and ripped the sleeve of her tack suit so that he could examine her wound.  “You need stitches.”

Natasha glanced over at him through her lashes and let a sultry smile play across her lips.  “You going to play doctor, Barnes?”

James glanced down at her and got lost in the depths of her green eyes.  What he wanted to do was haul her into him and kiss her so thoroughly she lost the ability stand.  Without thinking, he gently reached out and brushed her hair off her sweaty forehead with his fingers.  “You see anyone else around to do it?”  he asked, relieved when his voice came out steady.

Natasha felt her heart skip a beat at the heat she saw in his eyes, but she ignored it.  She stepped away from James, keeping her eyes blank.  “I’ll take care of it on the way out of town.  You were right, we need to leave Belarus.”

“I need to stitch your arm up first.”

Natasha shook her head no.  In the field, you could never count on your first approach being successful. You had to be ready to change tactics on the fly. Spies learned to make lightning-fast observations and connects the dots just as quickly “This was a set up.  The whole damn thing was a set up.  These scumbags are locals, not HYDRA.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

 “We need to go before our pictures hit every news agency in the country.  I have a feeling we’re about to become Belarus’s most wanted.”  Natasha continued.

“We need to stitch up your arm.” James said stubbornly.  He was going to take care of her arm, even if that meant holding her down to do it.  He’d followed her blood trail more than the boot prints to find her.

Natasha sighed, giving in.  She had a feeling this was going to wind up turning into a scene if she continued opposing him.  He might not wind up losing his temper, but she had a feeling she would.  “You’re my penance, aren’t you?”  It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.

“For what?”  James asked, curious.

“I don’t know, but it must have been something really bad I’m blocking out.  Apocalyptic bad.”  She told him, giving up.  “Ok we’ll stich up my arm and then we leave.’

  James snorted. “Where to next?”  he asked, content that she was going to be reasonable about her injury.

“Germany.  Fury says our Dr. Fennhoff has a practice there.  Time to pay him a visit.”

Later that morning, the redheaded man sauntered around the woods observing the carnage Natalia had left behind and smiled.  He would see her again soon. 


	15. Problem Child

**AVENGER SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING.**

The headline glared up at Steve Rodgers as he picked up the New York Times from a news stand on his way to meet Annie at the Park.  A quick glance at the text of the article made him frown and slow his step. 

“Do you think she’s guilty?” asked a woman standing next to him on the sidewalk.

“What?”  Steve stopped and gave the bespectacled brunette a questioning look.

“The Black Widow.  For all those deaths.”

“It’s not my place to be pointing fingers.”  Steve replied cautiously.  “Does everyone think she’s guilty?”

“She did disappear after the Accords were signed.  Plus, there have been all those other articles about what’s she’s been up to lately.   If she’s innocent, then why hasn’t she shown up since?”

“I don’t know.”  Steve frowned as he thought about it again.  “Maybe she just wants to lead a quiet life now.”

“Not only do they want to question Romanoff about the attack in Belarus, but that Winter Soldier guy too. He was with her.  He must have had something to do with it too.”

Thinking the attractive older woman was telling the story with too much relish, Steve murmured, “Time will tell, I guess.”  And moved on. 

Steve tucked the newspaper under his arm and headed for the park.  He needed to talk to Annie.  Find out what she knew about the incident in Belarus.  He also needed to get a hold of Clint.  Bucky was with Nat.  Why?  Why hadn’t either of them contacted him?  And what kind of trouble had Nat gotten Bucky into.  Steve took one step at a time, laboring against the fear that was threatening to choke him. 

Not ten minutes later Steve was at the park at the baseball field standing behind home plate, staring at Annie’s team in complete disbelief.  Annie was playing first base, looking adorable in her jeans and a siren red tee with a ragged penny jersey over the top of it.  Steve was anxious to talk to Annie about the new paper article but it would have to wait.  He didn’t want to spoil her good time.

“You suck.”  Annie yelled at the batter, her hands curved around her mouth. 

The batter gave her a look then proceeded to knock it out of the park.  The next two batters got base hits and both made it all the way home thanks to the fumbling on the field.  Annie’s team was terrible.  Steve joined Annie in the dugout between innings.  Annie trying to keep morale up, clapping on the backs, telling them “good job” and “you’re looking great out there.”  Steve shook his head.  Annie’s rose-colored glasses must also be blinders.  Because no one had done a good job and no one had looked great out there either.

At the bottom of the next inning, Steve watched Annie’s team blow through two strikes in two batters.  The third person up was a twenty something that had her dark hair up in a high ponytail.  She was teeny tiny and had a sweet, shy smile.  Steve did not have high hopes for her.  He must have muttered something under his breath.  Annie shot him a dark look.  “Positive reinforcement only.”  She told him.  “Or you’ll have to go dark.”

“Dark?”

“Yeah.” Annie jabbed her thumb towards a guy sitting on the bench, watching the field, expression dialed to irritated.  “Like Coach Mitch,” Annie said and turned to her boss.  “How are we doing tonight?”

Mitch paused as if struggling with the right words.  “Fuckin great,” he finally said.  Mitch didn’t look great, Steve thought, he looked like he was at stroke level.  But Annie beamed at him and then patted his shoulder.

Steve looked at Annie.  “Are we watching the same game?”  Mitch did an eyeroll.

“It’s called encouragement,” Annie said.  “And Mitch had to go dark, meaning he can’t talk unless saying something positive, on account of how he used to lower our morale so badly we couldn’t play worth anything.”

Steve bit back the comment that they couldn’t play worth anything now, as the girl at bat stood there letting two perfect strikes go by without swinging.  Mitch’s expression got darker and darker.  Steve nearly laughed.  Nearly.  Because he had no idea how Mitch was doing it, keeping his mouth shut.  Competition went to the bone with Steve and he was guessing Mitch felt the same.

“Is she going to swing?”  Steve asked.  “Or just keep the bat warm?” 

A strangled snort came from Mitch, which he turned into a cough when Annie glared at him.

“Janie is Mitch’s secretary,” Annie said.  “She’s really great.”

Steve looked at Mitch.  Mitch gave a slow head shake.

“What?” Annie said, catching it.  “She’s wonderful!  She handles your entire office and she’s always sweet to me.”

“Yes.” Mitch said.  “She’s a sweetheart.  She’s great.  In my office.  What she isn’t great at is softball.”

“She’s learning.”  Annie insisted.  Janie struck out.

The next batter was a lean, lanky kid, in his late teens.  “Kyle.”  Annie told Steve.  “He works in maintenance.”  Kyle strolled out of the dugout, winked at Annie and got a second base hit.  The next batter was a young girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty.  She wore thick-rimmed glasses and squeaked at every pitch that came her way and several that didn’t. 

What she didn’t do was connect with a single one.  Probably because she kept her eyes closed, which meant her glasses weren’t doing anything for her.  Steve tried not to care.  It was just a softball game, and a bad one at that, but come on.  He looked over at Coach Mitch and pointed to the batter.  “Mind if I…?”

Mitch gestured for him to go ahead, his expression saying good luck.

“Kid,” Steve called out.  The kid turned to face him.  “What’s your name?”  Steve asked.

“Mary,” The girl said. 

“You know how to hit?”

“Yeah,” She paused. “No.”

“Okay, it’s easy,” Steve said.  “You just keep your eyes open, you got me?”  Mary Bobbed her head.  “Make contact with the ball. Mary.  That’s all you gotta do.”

Mary nodded again but failed to swing at the next pitch.  She turned to nervously eye Steve.

“That’s okay,” Steve told her.  “That was a sucky pitch, you didn’t want a piece of that one anyway.  The next one’s yours.”  And he hoped that was true.  Steve watched Mary swing at the next ball and connect.  He launched himself off the bench.  “Yes!” he yelled, pumping his fist.  “That’s it, Mary!  Now run!”

Steve had started off not wanting to be there, resenting the game, and yet now he was one hundred percent in to it. Thankful for the reprieve from a world that was shadowed by never-ending guilt, worry and sadness.   In the end they lost by five.  Which Annie considered a total win.

“Thanks for your help.  We really appreciate it.”  Annie told Steve.  “I know that’s not why you came here today.”

It wasn’t.  But Steve was still smiling at her.  “No.  But I think I needed it.  So, thanks for inviting me.”

“Your welcome.”  Annie smiled back, happy to see Steve enjoying himself for once. 

There was so much going on in his life and what Annie had to show him was only going to upset Steve all over again.  He already knew about the newspaper article.  But how much worse will it be when he hears the rest of it? And will the fact that she must be the messenger make it easier or harder to bear?  From somewhere in the back of Annie’s mind she knew that she needed to tell him the rest—that she must deliver that final, horrible blow—but she couldn’t find the words.

Annie grabbed her backpack and the cooler she’s brought to the game with and turned to Steve.  “Let’s find a place to sit and we can talk while we eat lunch.”

Steve nodded, the tightness in his chest returning.  He took the cooler from Annie and they strolled to a grassy spot near the pond.  Annie pulled out an old picnic blanket and spread it on the grass.  They both sat down, Annie somewhat gingerly after the ball game.  Annie opened the cooler and started pulling out lunch for both of them.  She’d made her famous meatloaf sandwiches—one of Annie’s favorites—with little containers of coleslaw to go with them and chocolate brownies for dessert.

Handing Annie a bottle of water he met her concerned gaze with a direct one of his own.  “I’m fine.  I’m worried about Bucky and Nat, but I’m alright.” 

Wanting to hold on to the happiness the morning had brought Steve a little longer Annie told him.  “Let’s eat first, then we’ll talk about what happened in Belarus.”

Steve reached out and took the sandwich she was offering him.  They both bit into the sandwich and Annie smiled at the ecstatic roll of Steve’s eyes. 

“Wow,” Steve told her.  “I’m impressed.  Did DumDum teach you how to cook?”

Annie’s smile grew wider and she shook her head no.  “My Grandfather could barely boil water.  He tried, but mostly we ate a lot of take out.”  She’d done most of the cooking growing up with her Grandfather.  At first, simply out of desperation, but she’d soon learned she loved cooking.  It had been a long time since she’d had anyone to cook for and she enjoyed being able to do so once again.  Steve simply nodded and took another bite. 

They idly chatted about the softball game while they finished their meal.  While Annie stuffed the sandwich wrappers and empty containers back in the cooler, Steve stretched out his long jean clad legs, crossing them at the ankles.  His face turned serious and worried once again.  He pulled the newspaper from his pocket and took a deep breath, handing it to Annie.

“It says they think Nat killed civilians and that Bucky was there with her.” Steve stated.  “But Nat wouldn’t do that.  Ever.  Neither would Bucky.  Something had to have happened that they’re not saying in this article.  I mean there’s not really a lot of details.”

Annie’s heart clenched, her eyes downcast as she took the paper from Steve.  “They didn’t know much when this article was sent to press.  But…”  Annie’s voice trembled.  “They did it.  They did exactly what it says in there.”  She nodded, gaze distant, and then she sucked in a breath as if washing away what she'd said.

Steve gave her a sharp, almost startled look, but didn’t say anything. 

Annie reached over and pulled her laptop out of her backpack.  “The Belarus government is releasing more information now.  Bucky and Agent Romanoff attacked a military base.  It was mostly unused, just the armory for storing weapons and such.”  Annie told him sounding a little choked.  “They killed the guards there, but escaped before the military or police could arrive.  The Civilians from a nearby town tried to stop them from stealing a car and getting away.” 

“I don’t believe it!”  Steve said, his voice forceful and raw with emotion. “You don’t know Nat.  She always tries to be very careful when civilians are around.”

“A friend from the New York Times gave me a copy of this.”  Annie said holding up a DVD. 

She waited until her computers operating system was humming comfortable, then popped in the disk.  She set the laptop on the ground so Steve could see it.  The footage showed an empty parking lot, but then Bucky appeared on the monitor.  Stealthily making his way towards a parked car.  He pulled the door open then paused, looking over his shoulder making sure he wasn’t being watched. 

Steve tried to tell himself this wasn’t too bad.  He’d stolen a truck once before to get himself and Nat out of a bad situation.  He continued watching the scene play out on the screen.  A sense of foreboding washing through him as Nat and another man walked into view of the security camera.  He watched Natasha take a step and the gun in the man’s hand came into view. 

Bucky got back out of the car, then another man appeared from behind him pointing a gun at Bucky.  Steve watched as Bucky started to fight the man and Nat did the same with the one that had a gun on her.  When a second man attacked Bucky, Nat and the man she’d been fighting took off, disappearing from the video.  Steve watched as Bucky subdued one of the men, and Steve felt a breath of relief escape his lungs.  But in the next second the world fell out from beneath Steve as Bucky snapped the man’s neck and then plunged a knife into the second attacker.  Then Bucky disappeared from the screen.

Annie reached over with a trembling hand and shut the video off.  She shut her laptop down, closed the cover, and placed it back in her backpack.  Annie didn’t say anything as she watched Steve come to terms with what he’d just seen. 

“It’s not what it looks like.”  Steve despondently.   “Those men must have been from HYDRA.”  Right now, it felt like there was nowhere for his thoughts to alight that wasn't rife with land mines of regret or anger or guilt.

Annie’s heart jumped at the desperation in his tone.  She would have done anything, much more than was required in that moment, to relieve his anguish.  She sadly shook her head.  “They were just local workers eating breakfast in the diner.  Bucky and Agent Romanoff…they killed nine men.  Agent Romanoff led the rest of them into the woods and she…they ambushed them.”  She said sadly, shaken by the violence on the video.  She glanced at Steve, he was holding it together but barely.

Steve sucked a breath in through his teeth.  HYRDA had to be controlling both of them.  That was the only explanation for what had happened in Belarus.  There was just no way either Bucky or Nat would hurt civilians.  He needed to get to them.  Help his friends.  But he knew there would be no easy endings for his two friends.  There couldn’t be.  More danger would come.  More fear.  More pain.   And Steve had to stop it. 

“HYDRA has to be making them do this.”  Steve told Annie.  “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Go after them.  Find them before it’s too late.”  Steve said.

“Okay.  I’ll help as much as I can.  I’ll try and find out if anyone has an idea where they went after Belarus.”  Annie paused.  “Steve, they can’t come back together.  The world won’t accept or forgive them if they do.”

“That’s wrong.”  Steve said, his voice low and angry.  “It’s just wrong.”  Steve didn’t like any of this.  Bucky and Nat were two of the few people in the world he truly valued.  She and Bucky were his family.    

“Maybe.”  Annie agreed.  “But with both of their histories it’s also the truth.  They’ve both done terrible things in the past.  It wasn’t always their fault.  But they did them.  Now they’re doing terrible things together.  Public opinion will turn brutal against them.  Especially with hit pieces like the one in the newspaper.”

“Are you still planning on writing your story about Bucky?”  When Annie nodded yes, Steve pressed.  “Even after this?  It could get messy before I can get to them.”

“I’m going to write my story, Steve.  How could I not?”  Annie said vehemently.  The world had been so unfair to Sergeant Barnes and Annie would do anything she could to fix that.  The Black Widow though had had options in her life and had still chosen a dark path.  Dr. Fennhoff had told Annie that people like Agent Romanoff were broken and couldn’t be helped.

Steve sighed dejectedly, grief wrapping around him.  Maybe Annie was right and it would be better if he found a way to separate Nat and Bucky.  With that in mind Steve decided it was time to call Clint.  If nothing else Clint deserved to know what was happening to Nat.  Steve thanked Annie for everything she was doing and helped her carry her cooler back to her car.  Telling her he needed to get home so that he could reach out to Clint in private.

**Syria**

Clint approached the parking area at a partial crouch.  He saw the momentary glow of a cigarette and noted the man guarding the vehicles, smoking and cradling an assault rifle.  Fucking terrorists, they’d all be gone soon.  Keeping to the dark, Clint circled the house.  Moving with care, his injured leg throbbing in pain, Clint approached the house from the blindside. 

He crouched at a small wall, and with cat-like movement, hoped over it and darted across the dirt yard, pressing himself against the side of the house.  He waited a moment for the stabbing in his leg to recede.  He paused, listening.  There was a murmur of voices, the occasional cough from the man smoking. After a moment he heard the man drop the cigarette and grind it out with his foot.

Pressed against the corner of the house, Clint felt in the dirt, and picked up a fist-sized rock.  He tapped it softly against the ground, then waited.  Nothing.  He scrapped the rock in the dirt, making a somewhat louder noise.  Around the corner the man fell silent.  Clint waited, then scrapped the rock a little louder.  Silence still.  Then the crunch of footsteps. 

The man approached the corner of the house and then paused.  Clint swung around the corner hitting the man in the side of the head with the rock.  The guard fell unconscious and Clint ran for the motorcycle parked out front.  Clint laid a huge spray of dirt tearing out of the driveway, pushing the RPM’s on the motorcycle up while still in first gear.  He could see in his rearview mirrors the terrorist spilling out of the house like bees, guns drawn.  He briefly squeezed the clutch and kicked the bike up into second gear as the echoing of shots sounded. 

The lights of the SUV’s fired up as the terrorists started their engines, then more shots and cries of vengeance.  Clint pressed a button on his remote detonator and an explosion rent through the air killing every one of the terrorist bastards.  Fuck! He hated Syria.  And at the moment he wasn’t too fond of Natasha either.  He urged the bike on even faster as the immense night sky, studded with stars, flew by overhead.

Veering off the road, Clint cut across the open desert.  The vibration of the bike on the rough road, the slashing of brush against his leg, had shaken loose his bandage.  He felt blood creeping down his leg, the drops hissing on the hot muffler.  Clint fished out another quartet of ibuprofen tablets and popped them in his mouth.  He raced along heading for Iraq.  Putting as much distance between him and Damascus as he could. 

Clint slowed his Bike to a stop as the eastern sky brightened, dawn approaching.  He pulled out this phone and looked at the display.  Steve had been calling him for a while now.  Clint scrubbed a hand down his face.  Then he took his phone and dialed Steve, pretty sure things were about to go from bad to worse. 

“Cap.”  Clint said.

“We’re making a trip to Belarus.”

“For?”

Steve pursed his lips then decided to put it all out there.  He told Clint about everything he’d seen on the video earlier and what Annie had said the Belarus government was reporting happened.  He also told Clint his suspicions that HYDRA was controlling both Bucky and Nat.

“Ah.”  Clint said with a twist of his lips. “I doubt that’s how it went down.”

“I saw the video myself.” Steve replied, his voice grim.

“It’s too pat.  Are you telling me your boy doesn’t know how to steal a car without getting spotted?  Because Nat sure as hell does.”

“So you think it was HYDRA attacking them?”  Steve asked hopefully, then winced.  It was an indication of how messed up this situation had become, when the idea of HYDRA attacking two of his closest friends was a source of relief.

“I think it’s too pat.  I’m not going to assume anything.  Not with HYDRA involved and certainly not with Natasha involved.  Besides Nat’s been working with Fury.  Which is why I’m in Iraq.”

“Nat and Bucky were in Iraq?”

“No.  Nat was in Syria.  Nothing I learned said Barnes was with her.”  Clint pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke.  “So I was in Syria, now I’m in Iraq.”    Nat had left Clint a shit ton of false leads to follow.  Which was how he’d wound up at a house full of terrorist, how he’d wound up getting injured, and how he now found himself in Iraq.  Nat was not currently his favorite person.

“I still think we should both head to Belarus.”  Steve said.

“I agree.  Although they’re long gone by now.  Nat would change her identity and disappear to get out of a parking ticket, this is way more than a parking ticket.”  Clint shot back.

“Then we’ll just have to be like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.” 

Clint snorted.  “Dude, Nat is Sherlock Holmes. You…You’re more like Dudley Do-Right.”

It was Steve’s turn to snort.  “Still, it’s a place to start.  What I can’t figure out is why Bucky is with Nat if HYDRA doesn’t have them.  Why wouldn’t he contact me?”

Steve was right, it was something Clint was agonizing about.  If something happened to Natasha because she’d let Barnes close…Clint couldn’t even think of it.  He blew out a breath through the phone.  “We’ll need a safehouse.  I should be able to set something up.  I’ll call you with the details.”

Steve sent up a silent prayer of thanks.  He wasn’t going to have to do this alone.  “I’ll catch the next flight I can.”

“Gotcha.  I’m worried about you Cap.  There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The concern in Clint’s voice made Steve lower his gaze to the ground.  “I’ll explain when I get there.”  How was he supposed to tell Clint he thought it was a bad idea for Bucky to be anywhere near Nat.  That Nat’s past would make it harder to ever be able to bring Bucky home.

“You better.”  Clint warned.  Something was definitely off.  But his first priority was finding Natasha and making sure she was okay.  Then he was going to strangle the tiny little redheaded woman himself.  Continuing Clint said, “Right now, I need to get back on the road.  Being ambushed in the middle of the Iraqi desert is not how I want to spend my day.”

“I’ll see you in a day or two.”  Steve replied.

“Catch you in a few.”  Clint said before disconnecting the call.

Clint rebandage his leg and tried to think things through.  What was Natasha up to?  Okay, she had been in Syria alone, that much Clint was sure of.  Maybe she’d gone to Belarus looking for Zemo and had found Barnes instead.  That made sense.  Clint hoped to God she’d stashed the guy someplace safe and then gotten the hell away from him.  Barnes and HYRDA put together were trouble Natasha didn’t need.

“Fuck!” Clint growled as he climbed back onto his bike.  Both out of pain and frustration at the thought that Nat probably still had Barnes with her.  She’d want to keep an eye on him.  Clint hit speed dial on his phone before starting the engine.

Fury picked up his line and answered with “Don’t Know, I haven’t heard from her lately.  Wouldn’t tell you if I had.  You need a hobby, take time out to read a paper once in a while.”  It was a complete lie.  He’d just gotten off the phone with Nat and, after getting a full report from her, had told her to head to Ireland after she finished up in Germany.

“Go to hell.”  Clint snapped sourly, then hung up.  

Natasha was currently at the top of his “Not my favorite person” list but, Fury was running a really close second.  At least he knew Belarus was a step in the right direction.  Clint raced across the desert, the same thought hounding him the entire way.  Find Natasha, kill Natasha, drag Natasha back to the farm before Laura killed him.  Preferably with both of them in one piece.

 

**On the road to Germany**

Natasha sat in the passenger seat of the stolen car, thinking about the conversation she’d had the day before with Barnes.  She felt James glance at her when her phone vibrated with an incoming text.  She glanced at the screen then snorted.

You’re going to get yourself kissed.

Natasha typed in a response:  With tongue?

James watched Natasha as a wicked smile played across her lips.  He glanced down to read her screen.  He was about to ask her what was going on when she held up a hand and started counting down with her fingers.  When she reached five her phone started playing Iron Maiden’s Can I Play with Madness. 

Natasha answered it, hitting the speaker phone. “Pretty sure I’m never going to let you kiss me, Stark.”

Tony’s voice cut across the line.  “Killed.  K-i-l-l-e-d.  Not kissed.  Fucking auto-correct.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.  Is there a reason you’re calling to simultaneously sexually harass me and issue dire warnings?”

“What the hell happened in Belarus?  Ross is near apoplectic.”

“We were set up.  Those men were sent by HYDRA, a local gang.”

“So, the destroyer of lives is still with you.  Fuck…All right.  I’ll see if I can’t run some interference for you.  But Nat you need to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Uh huh,” Tony started then paused.  Nat knew this meant one of his signature sarcastic comments was coming her way.  Tony didn’t disappoint.  “Look all I’m saying is” Tony began. “As far as I know, inanimate objects can accidentally kill you. So if you were planning on teaching yourself the lambada on a greased platform over a pit full of knives, I wouldn't."

"There goes my Saturday.  Anything else?  I’m a little busy here trying to stay one step ahead of HYDRA.”

“Just that Steve and Clint both have flights booked to Belarus.”

Natasha made a fist then released it, forcing herself to relax.  She glanced at James and he mouthed the word no at her.  “Wanna have some fun?”  She asked Tony.  Relieved she and Barnes were still on the same page about others getting involved.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Slow Shaggy and Scooby down for me.”  Natasha waited.

After a few minutes Tony’s voice came back on the line.  “Okay, both of their cover ID’s have just made Interpol’s watch list.  That should buy you a day or two.  But Nat…”

“I’m being careful, I’m taking this seriously, and no I don’t need your help.  Well except to keep Steve and Clint busy and any place that I’m not.”

Natasha could almost hear the evil smile in Tony’s voice.  “Rodger that, Little Miss Muffet,”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Thanks, You’re still my favorite evil genius.”  She said then hung up.  She looked at James and muttered.  “I need more coffee, you need pancakes, and we need to head to Ireland after we’re done here.”

 “I’ll make breakfas…” James began.

“Oh, hell no.  we’ll find a place along the way.  I’m fond of my taste buds and you suck at cooking.”

James grunted.  No sense in denying the truth.


	16. Royal Powers

**Frankfurt, Germany**

James and Natasha drove a long, circuitous route from Belarus to Frankfurt, Germany, making sure they weren’t being followed.  Stopping only to deal with Natasha’s injury and when they needed gas.  They had been taking turns driving so the other could get some much-needed rest.  It was currently Natasha’s turn to drive and she had told Barnes she’d find them a place to eat.   It wasn’t until the car came to a halt that James blinked and looked around.  They were in front of a restaurant called Atschel.  Since he’d expected Some kind of diner where they could be in and out quickly, he was more than confused.

“What’s this?”  James asked.

Natasha opened her door as she said, “A restaurant.  I suggest you camouflage your arm.”

James shook his head.  It was still morning and Romanoff hadn’t been given her daily dose of caffeine.  Clearly this caused the negative reaction of making her a smartass.  He got out of the car and walked beside her to the entrance.  The hostess took them through the establishment with its vibrant red seats and dark, tufted leather booths.  The walls, columns, and archways were all brick, which tied in nicely with the wood floors and wooden ceiling.

James slid into a seat at one of the tables still unsure what was going on.  This restaurant wasn’t safe.  There were cameras everywhere, which meant HYDRA could track them easily.  Hell, for all he knew there were HYDRA goons dining right there with them.

“Relax.”  Natasha said.

James shot her a hard look.  “Did you get hit in the head or something as well as getting shot?  What are we doing here?”

“Eating.  I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I sat down at a restaurant.”

“We’re on display because of your craving?” James asked incredulously.

Natasha looked at him over her menu.  “That and waiting for Dr. Fennhoff’s receptionist to arrive.  My intel says she eats Breakfast here every Saturday morning.” She Informed him.  “And look right on cue, there she is.”  she held up her phone showing a photo for James to compare to the woman now being seated across the room from them.

 “So now what?”   James asked, as he compared the photo to the woman.  The brunette was attractive and had a roughly similar build to Natasha.

Now, we eat Breakfast and get her access card when she’s on the move.  No need risking someone here seeing us and getting arrested for being purse snatchers.  Besides, tell me you weren’t hungry for something you didn’t have to fix yourself, Barnes.”

James was about to admit to just that when he saw Natasha’s lips twitch.  Then she raised the menu higher.  But he was sure she’d been about to smile.  One look at the menu had his stomach rumbling.  Everything looked delicious.  His mouth watered for all of it.  Then he got a glimpse of the selection of Pfannkuchen and nearly groaned.   

“Fine, I’m starving. Breakfast's on me.”  James replied.

Natasha lowered her menu.  "Normally, I wouldn't protest," she said, leaning closer, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. "But in public, I'd prefer a plate."

An image of Natasha, hair loose, licking syrup off his navel flashed through James’ mind.  He smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead, as if that could knock the mental picture out of his head.  What he needed right then didn’t involve calories, it involved a lobotomy.  He let out a long slow breath, thankful when the waiter chose that moment to interrupt them and take their order.  Not missing that Romanoff was hiding behind her menu chuckling softly.

Natasha and James chatted all through their meal and lingered over coffee, waiting for the receptionist to finish her breakfast.  Appearing to any one that cared to pay attention like a couple on an early morning date.  James sat back when the waiter returned with glasses of water.  James turned his glass around and around.

“Do you enjoy working for Fury?”  James asked, genuinely curious.

“Very much,” Natasha replied.  “I have a purpose.  Then there’s Fury himself.  He took me in to SHIELD and made me feel a part of things.”

“You trust him?”

Natasha smiled, “Fury, Yes.  Everyone else.”

James leaned his forearms on the table.  “Not even me?”

“I don’t have a choice but to trust you.”

“Does that mean you’d rather not?”

“It means I don’t have a choice.”  Natasha said flatly.

A muscle in James jaw clenched.  “So, you don’t.”

“I means what I said and trust is a two-way street.  You could have gone to Steve for help.”

She’d elevated the non-answer to an art form. Every time he ventured in and tried to pick away at her rough exterior, that shield, she threw up another. Not with nasty words, but she verbally blocked anytime he got close to anything personal.  “I could have.”  James said. 

Now Natasha was truly curious.  “Why didn’t you?  The real reason not just you don’t want to inconvenience him with your mess.”

“You were already involved in this.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the statement.  “That’s the best you can come up with.”

“Steve’s a soldier.  A good solider, but I don’t need another solider to accomplish my goal.  I need someone that can get the intel to find HYDRA.  That’s you.  You’re the master spy.”

“So, you decided to pair up with me”

James lifted his shoulder in a shrug.  “That’s part of it.”

“And the other part?”

James just looked at her.  Natasha pushed her coffee cup aside to cross her arm over the other on the table.  “Oh, no.  You’re the one that made the statement about it being part of the reason.  You say something like that, then you have to be prepared to answer the resulting question.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

“I can get the job done.  The Bucky Barnes Steve remembers, doesn’t exist anymore.”  James eyes turned glacial, his voice hard.  “For me, there’s no black and white, no gray.  Just black.  I’m going to kill every one of my enemies.  If that means I have to be heartless, cruel even, to accomplish my goals, I will be.  That’s something I know you don’t have a problem with.”

“You’re right, I don’t.  Steve has a dark side, you know.”  Natasha returned.

James snorted, “Steve has a fuzzy gray side at best.”

Seeing the receptionist signal the waiter for her check, they did the same and, followed her out of the restaurant and through the streets of Frankfurt. 

It was cool, only in the low fifties.  It had rained heavily the night before and there were still puddles in the road.  But the sun was shining now.  The receptionist taking a leisurely stroll, stopping at several places to window shop.  James and Natasha kept pace with her.  Waiting for the moment Natasha could pick the other woman’s purse and get her access card, without being seen.

“We’re going to need some kind of distraction if she keeps this up.  Otherwise, she’ll figure out we’re following her.” Natasha grumbled.  The receptionist picked that moment to turn her head to look at them.  “Crap, we need to…”

Before she could finish the sentence, James hauled Natasha up against him, spun them so Natasha’s back was pressed to a shop wall, and kissed her, his lips moving on hers with firm authority.  Being enveloped in his big, muscular arms, held tight against his solid chest, sent Natasha’s heart racing.  James’ tongue glided along the seam of her mouth and without thinking, she opened.  He slipped inside, invading her with gentle strokes.

Gentleness quickly flew out the window. James savored her with his tongue, coaxing her to do the same to him. He tasted of syrup and maleness, an earthy combination that teased Natasha’s senses. A jolt of electricity sparked as he probed the hot, dark recesses of her mouth, seeking every inch. His tongue moved over every surface, traced a line across the roof of her mouth, rasped against her own small tongue. A different kind of dance took over, a more sensual one capable of fanning her senses to life. Natasha shook with a kind of need she’d never experienced, and he was doing nothing more than kiss her.

James’ world spun off its axis.  Then stopped entirely. The taste of Natasha made him realize, for the first time in his life, that he was fucking starving. And always had been.  Her hands slid up his chest, his shoulders, and dug in as if to hold him there, right there. But he wasn't going anywhere. He liked her hands on him, liked her tongue in his mouth, and when she made that noise deep in her throat, the one that said she was as lost as him, James groaned, both in pleasure and with a good amount of what-the-fuckery, because he knew.

He was in trouble. Down to the bone trouble, and he didn't give one single shit.

They finally broke apart, needing air, breathing heavily.  Neither thinking about the receptionist or their mission.  James hooded his eyes and stared into hers, dark with confusion and unwilling passion, and for one stark, horrible instant, he wished to be a different man. He’d wished to be worthy of her.  James planted both of his hands flat on the wall on either side of her.  Letting out a long, careful breath.  Forcing himself to relax.  Reminding himself this was just a mission.

Natasha was shocked and wildly out of breath.  She put a hand to her racing heart, which was throwing itself against her ribcage with every single heartbeat.  James just looked at her and then her heart stopped beating altogether.  Because she understood what his look said---He regretted what he’d done.  He regretted kissing her.

“This isn’t why I’m here. I’ve got a mission. I made a promise.”   James’ chest expanded with a deep, ragged breath. “Ah, hell. Quit looking at me like you either want to shoot me or eat me up. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

He was acting like their kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking Natasha.   Even though Natasha’s mind couldn’t, her body remembered James.  Remembered the way he tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers, his scars under her fingers, the shape of his body under her hands.  That shook her to her core.  They’d done this before.  The reality hit Natasha like a bucket of ice.  She stepped back mentally, needing a little distance between them.  Reminding herself she was stronger than this.  She didn’t have time for this.

“That was…” Natasha said coolly, “Not on my agenda.  You’re not on my agenda.”

Not want him?  That was so far from the truth Natasha could barely wrap her mind around it. But she was convinced that he wouldn’t really want her under normal circumstances that didn’t involve life-threatening situations. Getting involved with him physically wasn’t a good idea for her.  Yeah, there was heat between them, but Natasha was smart enough to know that didn’t justify getting close to him. 

Natasha slide out from between him and the wall. Trying to lighten the mood between them before she did something they’d both regret, she playfully told him, “Well, your definitely better at that then Steve.”   Not bothering to look at James, Natasha took off after the receptionist who had continued down the street.

James turned to follow her then suddenly paused mid stride.  “You kissed Steve?”  He hardly recognized his own voice, the demanding tone as the question forced its way from his lips.  “Why?”

A flash of dark heat raced through him and he knew himself well enough to identify it as a dose of pure jealousy.  That he had no right to be jealous was irrelevant. There were no preconditions for jealousy. He didn't have to be right, he didn't have to be reasonable.  “I want this woman. I want her for my own. End of story. The world can fuck off for all I care.”   His eyes heated.  Darkened.  And something else.  He wasn’t looking so relaxed now.  In fact, he was looking the opposite of relaxed.  He looked…feral.  And she was his prey.   

“Maybe I was just looking for a little fun.” Natasha shot over her shoulder as she continued following the receptionist.  She had a job to do damn it and she would do it.

James jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as his body instinctively seemed to follow her lead, moving toward her, his voice dangerously low. "If you need fun," he shot back.  “I'll give you fun.”

Natasha was stunned.  “I kissed Steve as a cover.  We were on the run and trying not to get spotted.  It was a distraction, just like today.”

James absorbed the information but still pressed.  “So, there’s nothing going on between you and Steve?”

“We were friends.  Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Were friends?  Let me guess, Germany.  Steve started a fight over something he believed was right and to save my ass.  You got caught in the middle.  Plus, you’re friends with Stark.”

Natasha stopped, blew out an agitated breath, and looked at James.  No, to the hell no, did she want to have this conversation.  “Tony has nothing to do with it.  I make my choices based on what I think is right.  I agreed with Tony about the Accords.  I still do.  But, I made other choices as well.  Now I’m dealing with the consequences.”.

“Choices like letting me and Steve escape?”

Natasha spotted her window of opportunity to get the access card, as the receptionist stopped to talk to another pedestrian and admire the man’s dog.  Natasha quickly passed by her and pretended to stumble.  She reached down and smoothly slide the access card out of the other woman’s purse and pocketed it.  Natasha’s steps never halted as she walked down the street with James continuing their conversation.  “My choice, my problem.  The whole thing was a clusterfuck from the word go.  Now can we just get on with what we came here for?”

Feeling almost as if he was experiencing whiplash, James watched Natasha work.  This mission was definitely not going to be easy---for a hell of a lot of reasons.  James decided against pushing her for more.  Natasha was nothing if not a book full of secrets.  A locked book full of secrets.  She wasn’t willing to fully trust or open up to him.  A reminder that getting involved with her on anything other than a professional level, was a very bad idea.

It took a couple of hours for Natasha to purchase different clothes for them, while James checked out their safehouse to ensure it was ready and still secure.  Once that was done they headed to the building where Dr. Fennhoff’s German office was located.  The buildings entrance had a security guard posted at a desk, but Natasha was prepared for this. 

If a spy could find someone that fit their general description, the perfect wig and a new pair of sunglasses could get them a general look around.  Natasha, to James’ amazement, could almost have passed as the receptionist’s twin.  She had on a brunette wig, stark white blouse and a tight royal blue skirt.  The exact same outfit the receptionist had worn to breakfast.  James, she had dressed up to look like a nerd.  Complete with a computer bag, glasses, and pocket protector. 

Natasha breezed through the lobby impatiently dragging James along with her.  “Good afternoon Karl.  I have to watch this guy work on the Doctor’s computer system.  We won’t be long.”  Natasha told the security guard as they passed him.  Her voice perfectly matching an aggrieved employee that had to work on their day off.

“Sounds like neither one of us is having a good weekend.” The guard responded, waving them through, sounding bored.  “Stephan didn’t show again, so I get to cover his shift.” 

“I’m so sorry.” Natasha told him as she and James waited for the elevator. 

Once the elevator was headed for the correct floor James turned to her. “How did you know his name was Karl?”

“They’re always named Karl or Max.  I had a fifty-fifty chance,” Natasha told him.  “if I’d gotten it wrong I would have bent over and shown him my tight ass.  He’d have blown it off.”  She added a little extra sway to her hips as she stepped off the elevator.  Showing off the tight skirt hugging her sexy curves.

James grunted in appreciation, the woman did have an amazing ass.  One he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on.  James drew up short.  He had to stop this, had to learn to control the raw attraction he felt for her.  James steeled himself against the memories of their kiss---fresh, raw, and undeniable.  What the hell was it about Romanoff that made his commonsense pack a bag and head for parts unknown?

Natasha stopped in front of the office door.  Putting a finger to her lips to keep Barnes quiet, she used the access card to unlock the door and opened it a crack, while listening intently for any sounds from inside.  When she heard none, she opened the door a bit wider and peered into the dimly lit interior to make sure no one was there.  All clear.  She signaled Barnes and lead the way inside.

There were two doors off the waiting room.  To one side was a conference room door, James moved to do a sweep of that room.  Natasha headed for the Doctors office.  Natasha retuned to the reception area and did a cursory sweep of the desk.  She doubted anything important would be found there.  Barnes was so close behind her, she could practically feel him against her back.

Natasha turned to face him and she brushed up against his chest.  Her eyes widened and the breath caught in her throat, making a funny little noise that zapped James with renewed lust.  For a moment he gave into the personal heat, imagined taking her in his arms again and kissing her right there.  Muffled laughter coming at them through the wall cut through the moment.  Other people working on the weekend must have been sharing a joke.

Natasha moved away from him and into the Doctor’s office, James followed, closing the door partly before turning on the light.  Natasha headed straight for the desk and the computer on it.  The CPU was silent but a glowing light told her it was set to hibernate.  She turned on the monitor, tapped the mouse and a screen came up demanding a password.

“Do you know his password?”  James asked, crowding Natasha.

Did he have to stand so close?  Was he doing it on purpose to distract her?  Natasha wouldn’t put it past him.  But distract her from what?  Ignoring him, she touched the keyboard and started typing in commands.  “Got it.”

“How?”

“I’m psychic.”

“No? really?”

Natasha huffed a laugh.  “I know how to hack.  It’s a useful skill if you’re a spy.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”  Natasha quickly acquainted herself with the setup.  She found a file pertaining to some research the Doctor was working on and clicked it.  Natasha opened the view to get the details, then went through one subfolder at a time.  The research was related to some drug the Doctor was developing that had a specific effect on his patient’s minds.  Natasha pulled a flash drive out of her pocket and began copying the files.  Fury’s guys would need to take a look at this.

Natasha was just finishing up when the office door flew open.  Both of them snapped their heads up and found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun.  The man holding it indicated he wanted them to come out from around the desk.  Both complied.  James’ body tightened, readying to fight.  He glanced at Natasha and saw that she, on the other hand, looked relaxed.  Except for her eyes, her eyes radiated annoyance.  Natasha shook her head almost imperceptibly at James.

 “You look great, Romanova.  Always so beautiful. And you Soldat, you look well.”  The man didn’t have the trace of an accent, yet he spoke with the over preciseness of someone to whom English was a second language. 

Natasha gave him a falsely, sweet smile.  “You too Mikhail, very youthful. Still drinking the blood of children?” 

Mikhail looked like a professional rugby player.  He had a heavy brow made heavier by a single black eyebrow that traveled from one temple to the other.  His eyes were coal-black and wide-set, but his most prominent feature was a hook nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice and a dimple in the middle of his pronounced chin.  Natasha knew it would be a waste of effort to try and knock him out with a punch to the head.  She’d tried before.  The man’s neck was as thick as a telephone pole. 

“I must say I am surprised to see the two of you working together again.”  Mikhail replied conversationally, but his eyes gave him away, he was nervous.

James stilled, his face turned cold and impassive at the statement.  He kept his eyes locked on the gun.  Having a gun to your head was all about timing; finding the right moment to make your move. Best to snap the trigger-finger first. After that, it's mostly downhill.

“I don’t see why you would be.” Natasha shrugged, only half listening to Mikhail.  Her focus was on the beautiful 9mm suppressed Beretta.  Mikhail kept swinging it back and forth sticking it in James’ face then back at Natasha’s head.

“Come you are not know for your forgiving nature, Natalia.”

“No, I’m not.” Natasha agreed.  “Which is why I’m surprised to find you pointing a gun at us.  Since you’re not known for your bravery.” Natasha followed the gun like a tennis volley.  Mikhail’s middle finger was on the trigger and the red dot above his thumb told her that the safety was off and the gun was hot.

“You’re unarmed.  I’m the one with the weapon.”

“hmmm, ever notice how you come across somebody, every once in a while, that you shouldn’t have fucked with?  That’s him.”  Natasha said jerking her thumb towards James. 

As Natasha was speaking the gun made its slow-motion arc back toward her.  James made his move.   He went for a two-handed grab around the barrel of the gun.  His hands clamping down on the steel while the gun was still swinging Natasha’s way.  Driving the gun straight up so a misfire wouldn’t bury itself in Natasha’s chest.  At the top, James pivoted to his left, bringing the gun up over the top of his head, before pulling it back down over the other side, effectively putting Mikhail in an arm bar.

In this position the Russian couldn’t move unless he let go of the gun.  Natasha delivered a quick kick to Mikhail’s face, and a bullet spit harmlessly into the wall.  Having dazed him, Natasha ripped the gun free.  She swung the pistol back, cracking Mikhail across the forehead with the heavy metal grip.  The blow sent him to the floor.  Natasha flipped the gun up in the air and caught the grip with both hands. 

“Are we going to shoot him?” James asked, in an icy voice. A vein in his forehead throbbed, mirroring the violence in the room.

“If we killed everyone that hates me, it wouldn’t be murder.  It would be an apocalypse!”  Natasha replied, as she ran a finger down the Beretta 9mm with the same expression most women reserve for chocolate.  “No, we’re going to get some answers out of him.  Put first, check his pockets.  Mikhail usually carries a knife.”

James frisked the Russian, took the man’s knife off of him, then hauled him up and shoved him into a chair.  “Who sent you?”

“No one.”

“Try again.” Natasha said.  “Why did you come after us Mikhail?”

“Why do you think?  After what you did to me.” Mikhail brought his head back and spat a huge glob of spit at Natasha.  “You’re dead Romanova.  Dead, do you hear me!”  It was the Russian’s way of trying to assert dominance over a situation in which he had zero control. 

“Yay, Dead, dead, dead.  I got it.” Natasha waved her hand dismissively at him.

James reared back his fist and crashed it into the bridge of Mikhail’s nose, breaking it.  The Russian needed to know, right up front, who was boss and that James hadn’t come to play games.  It was why he had broken the man’s nose.

“See what you did?  You’re pissing him off, Mikhail.”  Natasha said politely.  “Now are you going to answer our questions, or do I have to let Barnes whack you with his bionic arm until little candy surprises fall out?”

“I…I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Mikhail begged uselessly.  “I heard rumors you two were together and decided to see for myself.”

“Piñata it is.”  James threatened.  There wasn't a hint of compassion in his ice-blue eyes.

“No…No.”  Mikhail said in a panic.  “I was told to come here and tell you about Odessa.”

Natasha inspected her manicure.  “He ran my car off the road, killed the scientist, and shot me.  I lived.  End of story.  Who sent you Mikhail?”

“I don’t know.”  Mikhail insisted.  He was not stupid enough to give up Rostov’s name.  No matter what the two of them did to him.  “I don’t know anything.”

James silently examined him.  The expensive slacks and shoes, the gaudy gold chain nested in a carpet of chest hair.  The guy reeked of Russian mafia.  “By the looks of you I believe you don’t know much.  But nothing at all?  I’m not buying it.”

“I…” Mikhail stammered, trying to buy enough time to come up with a plausible lie.  “I don’t know.  Thanks to her I’m just a criminal now.  Drugs.  Women. Weapons.  I was involved in the Odessa mission and I was told to tell you what I know.”

“Are you waiting for me to apologize for you being kicked out of the KGB?  Because that’s never going to happen.”   Natasha said, as she picked up a letter opener off the desk.  “This looks like it could cause some damage, doesn’t it?”

Despite his appearance Mikhail wasn’t just a mindless piece of muscle.  He was a former high-level KGB handler who now had a large criminal outfit of his own.  Natasha decided to switch tactics on him.  “Look, I don’t give a rat’s ass about you.  I don’t care if you walk out of here with barely a scratch, or they’re scraping pieces of you off the floor.  But I can tell you, if you lie to me, it’s going to be the second one.  What do you now about Odessa that I don’t?”

“That he went off mission.”  Mikhail said, nodding towards James while he eyed Natasha nervously.  “The Soldat did not comply with his orders.” 

“He killed the scientist I had with me.  Hell, he shot through me to do it.”

“But you lived.’

“I nearly bled out before help came.” Natasha said, finding herself in the second conversation of her day that there was absolutely no way in hell she wanted to have.

James turned to Natasha, guilt and remorse etched in every line of his face.  He’d nearly killed her. His jaw clenched, anger kindling in his gut, his fears were confirmed. He’d nearly killed her and Natasha was talking to this piece of shit about it as calmly as someone discussing the Yankees chance of winning the pennant race. 

“But you lived.  HYDRA specifically ordered him to kill not only the scientist but you as well.  He was supposed to return with confirmation of your death. Yet he walked away with you still alive.  He had never failed to carry out a kill order before.”  Mikhail paused putting a hand to his face, trying to stem the flow of blood still dripping out of his nose.  “But then again, we both know how the two of you felt about each other, don’t we?”

Natasha abruptly whirled away from Mikhail, walked around the desk and faced out the office window, folding her hands across her chest.  She briefly let her eyes flit across the busy streets below before closing them and going utterly still.  Grimacing in pain.  She knew what was about to happen, all she could do was control how bad it would be.  In her current agitated state this would be exceedingly difficult.

First, she had to isolate and compartmentalize her pain while simultaneously keeping her mind as clear as possible.  Shutting everything out, trusting Barnes could deal with Mikhail, she let the memory begin to form.  Still the pain remained.  Breathing shallowly, keeping her eyes gently but completely closed, careful to keep her mind from acknowledging the pain that coursed through her limbs.  Natasha let the suppressed memory fully form. 

“Romanoff are you all right?” James asked.  But she didn’t answer.  “Natasha!”  

Fear quickly turned into panic.  Mikhail pushed up from the chair and tried to make a break for the door.  His instincts for self-preservation overwhelming him.

James grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back down hard.  “Move again, I’ll snap your neck!”

“Natalia’s going to come out of it and kill us both.  Fuck!  She’ll kill everyone in the building.  I’ve seen her like this before.”

“You move, you die anyways.” James said unsympathetically. But still he kept a close watch on Natasha unsure what was happening to her.  It took every ounce of discipline he possessed to stay still and guard Mikhail, instead of going over to her.  She didn’t look upset or angry.  She didn’t look anything.  Like the night he’d watched her through the window.

Natasha blocked out everything going on in the office and concentrated solely on the memory.  On feeling and seeing every part of it. 

_Natalia watched as the Winter Soldier looked through his binoculars at the Saudi diplomat bastard beating the shit out of some subordinate.  The guy working for their target wasn’t a saint either but still._

_“What an ass.”  The Soldat murmured._

_“Hey!” Flat on her stomach, perched on the hill with him, Natalia gave him a dirty look.  Then returned her gaze to the scope of her custom Remington 700.  Not that he noticed because he didn’t look directly at her.  Which was good, because when he did, it was hard to focus and hard to hide her attraction to him.  For a multitude of reasons.  Everything about him called to her on the most primal level._

_“What?”  He asked._

_“You like Ass?”_

_Okay, now he looked at her.  Was this a trick question? “uh. Yeah?”_

_Natalia lifted an eyebrow, her green eyes ice cold.  “You respect a good tight ass?”_

_“Hell yeah.” He didn’t even have to think about that._

_“Then don’t insult it by calling him an ass.  Call him what he is a dick.”_

_His lips kicked up as he drank in her pissed off expression.  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry you.” The Soldat dead-panned._

_Natalia stared at him with horror in her emerald-green eyes before rolling said eyes and turning to look back through her scope.  “You’ve got problems.”  She muttered._

_“Is it inappropriate that I like when you say the word ass?  I liked your underwear too.”  He murmured, returning to his binoculars._

_For this mission they’d had to change clothes in tight quarters and Natalia had had no issue with stripping down to her boy-short panties and sports bra in front of him.  She’d forgotten about the text on the back of her panties—Badass with a good ass—until now.  “Pretty sure that’s sexual harassment.’_

_“File a report.”_

_Natalia snorted at the ridiculousness of his words.  “To answer your question, yes, it’s inappropriate.  But that’s okay.  I like inappropriate.”_

_“You’ve got a clean shot.”  The Winter Soldier said._

_For this mission they’d literally played rock, paper scissors to decide who was behind the rifle.  Her idea, of course.  She’d had to teach him how to play.  And yes, she’d cheated.  “Yeah, I do.”   Natalia pulled the trigger._

Natasha blinked as the pain ebbed away, along with the memory.  She turned around and walked straight over to Mikhail.  “Listen to me, you piece of shit.  I’m about to give you more chances than I’ve given anyone in ten years.  But that will end if you don’t do what I tell you.  Run.  Go back to your hole selling drugs and stay out of my way.  If I ever see you again…” Natasha made a slashing motion with her finger across her throat.

“We’re just cutting him loose?” James asked, somewhere between pissed off and bemused.

Natasha cut him a look that said it wasn’t a conversation they were going to have in front of Mikhail.

James studied her still unsure what was going on inside Romanoff’s head. “Are you alright?” 

“Fan-fricking-tastic.  Only way today could get better is if I were scheduled for an appendectomy.  Without drugs.  In a third world country.  We should go.” Natasha said, her voice flat. She headed for the door to leave.  James stepped in beside her. 

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” Mikhail sneered at her back. “You think your free, but you never will be.”

Natasha paused.  “Don’t test me Mikhail.” She warned.

Mikhail tensed, his eyes narrowing.  He owed Natalia payback for what she’d done to him.  “Sonbuc…” Mikhail screamed at her.  He never got a chance to finish the word. 

A change came over Natasha.  Her body went ridged.  Her fingers flexed—once only.  Sparks flashed in her green eyes.  The very air darkened around her.  The change was so abrupt, and with such an undercurrent of menace, that James was startled and inadvertently jostled her arm, knocking Natasha’s knife off its original trajectory as she threw it at Mikhail.

She grabbed a pen and piece of paper off the desk and wrote a quick note.  Natasha glared down at Mikhail, pulling the knife from his hand.  The man grunted in pain.  Natasha ignored him.  She stuck the note to the knife and impaled it into Mikhail’s leg.  As Mikhail screamed she leaned in close to his ear.  “Say that word to me again and you will not live out the night.”   Natasha hissed, looking incensed.  She pivoted on her heel and exited the office.  

The waves of hatred that had rolled off Natasha made James sincerely glad that all that emotion wasn’t directed at him.  James quickly scanned the note Natasha had written, “I am coming and I will kill you.”   James gave a hard look at Mikhail’s leg, pressed one hand over the Russian’s mouth, and pressed down on the knife with his finger.  Mikhail’s body went rigid as a lightning bolt of pain shot through his body and he let out a muffled scream. 

James’ eyes darkened, a muscle jerked in his jaw, his hot gaze drilling into the man.  “What the hell did you do to her?” James growled. 

“I reminded her she’s not invincible.  Neither one of you are.  You’re both going to lose.”

It was as if these words uncorked James’ temper, and anger flared in his eyes, the muscles of his neck suddenly tense.  “I’ll give you one chance to run, but may your shoulder always whisper in your ear…It’s best to watch out for men, like me.”  James snarled then left the office.  He needed to find Natasha.  He had no idea what had just happened.  Because Natasha Romanoff looking, or worse, being incensed was a very bad thing.  Romanoff was about to rain down hell.  And James planned to be right there beside her when she did.


End file.
